


How to happily harbor a viper in your midst

by Sattar



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Humor, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Recovery, Sarcasm, Slow Build, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, demonic lectures on psychology, from hate to friendship, mageHawke, sarcastic bickering and psychological exploration, snark fest, various points of view
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-30 06:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 122,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sattar/pseuds/Sattar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm talking about the brilliant sarcastic guy with the most radiant smile..."<br/>"What? He never smiles!"<br/>"...who is so lonely and harsh on himself that he thinks there's no one who'd care to see him smiling."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't go looking for snakes

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a lot to Sten's_cookie for reading over this mess in one swift go

 

**Don't go looking for snakes, you might find them**

"It took decades for other Blights to run their courses. This one? Less than two years. Don't you see? It never happened! It was all a Fereldan ploy!"

"Don't you dare doubt the Fereldan Blight! Of course it ended quickly – my cousin was in charge. Because we Amells are just _that_ awesome," Erica Hawke laughed, turning back to her table. "Hey, I should use that as our motto! I mean, we're bloody nobility, we must have a motto, right?"

"Maybe we should get an actual estate first," her brother Carver grumbled, but she just ignored him.

"Where was I? Oh, right. Isabela," Hawke murmured with a smile too soft to be genuine. "You cheated, my dear."

"Oh, you're wounding me with such preposterous ideas," Isabela pouted, collecting her winnings.

"You'd better not do it again. Not with me," Hawke said with the same tone.

Isabela smirked to herself. She rather liked Hawke; the girl was fun, smart, mischievous, but also confident and strong. She reminded Isabela of herself, not of who she was, but who she could've been, if she had had loving parents and the ability to defend herself with her mind. She was bright and fiery, and not just because she preferred fire to other elements. She was raised as the center of the universe, the brightest light, the pride and joy of her parents. She never tolerated any abuse, she never knew rejection or humiliation and she was never betrayed by someone she trusted. Well-intended spoiled brat in other words. She thinks she can beat Isabela in cheating? Hah! Time to clip the wings of the little hawklet.

"So, what's with that Warden-healer guy?" Isabela asked nonchalantly, shuffling and stacking the deck. "I still can't remember why he seems so familiar…"

"Well, he was rather sweet. Up until point when he promised to hurt me," Hawke said, obliviously accepting from Isabela the worst possible hand.

"Hurt you?" Carver tensed, his hand rising involuntarily to the hilt of his sword. Isabela found it sweet that while the younger brother fully understood – and constantly complained - that his sister was way more powerful than him, he still couldn't get rid of his brotherly protective instinct. "How does he think he can hurt you? He's a healer and you're a walking firestorm."

The apostate chose possibly the most effective tactic, Isabela thought. Playing hard to get was one of the few ways to keep Hawke interested. She couldn't resist a challenge. She would take any job, no matter what the odds were, if it matched her principles, of course. She only offered her help with Castilion when she found out why he was after Isabela. The little bird cherished her own freedom so much, she couldn't stand to see others harassed over theirs. She was the center of her world and in her world people like that did not exist, and if they did, it wasn't for long.

That was her problem. Pride. The girl would rather break her neck than bow it. She was willing to go into the Deep Roads just to throw the templars off her track. A track lined with scorched craters, because she'd set on fire everyone who tried to threaten her precious free will.

"Not that way, you silly thing," Isabela teased the young warrior lazily. "Next time you go to the Blooming Rose, find Llolth the Black Widow. She'll show you how proper hurting must be done."

Carver shot an embarrassed glance at laughing Hawke and blurted, "I'm not going there!"

"Oh, but why?" Hawke asked with exaggerated concern "Are you out of your pocket money already? Should I give you more? Because if it makes you whine even a little bit less, I'll arrange a bake sale."

"I hate you all," Carver muttered and crossed his arms over his chest.

Isabela chuckled and turned to Hawke "So, gonna give it a shot?"

"I don't know," Hawke sighed, laying her cards on the table and thoughtfully casting her eyes up at the ceiling.  _Oh, you're such an easy victim, dear_ , Isabela thought. In one smooth quick motion the pirate moved her arm under the table to complete the perfect hand, but suddenly she was stuck. There wasn't anything physically wrong with her, she felt no pain, as if the air around her palm was petrified.

_Oh shit, that gravity thing that Hawke is so fond of on the battlefield…_

Meanwhile Hawke just rambled on, looking absolutely innocent.

"I mean, we've know each other for like what, two days? And he's already all "I'm gonna hurt you, baby. I'm gonna hurt you bad."

Isabela felt her cards slipping out of her fingers and silently gritted her teeth, still keeping the light smile on her face. Trying to accuse Hawke of cheating while being caught and frozen in the middle of it herself would be pathetic. And Hawke would just pretend to "marvel at the Maker's true wonder" as if she had nothing to do with it.

"…But he's funny when he's not being overdramatic. Come to think of it, he's funny when he is overdramatic too. So probably, yeah, I'll give him a chance."

Isabela wondered with annoyance when she would be able to move her arm from this awkward position, then there were cards in her hand again and she was free. The mage had just switched their cards.

"You arrogant magical ass." The pirate said, throwing her cards on the table. She took part in too many duels to not understand when she lost. "You have many tricks up your sleeve, don't you?"

"Sure," Hawke smiled smugly. "Father had me learning this since we discovered my magic. He said card tricks help to develop precision and power is nothing without an accurate control. I can have cards flying around if I want or manipulate them within the deck to set up another player… actually, almost anything. So yeah, you just don't cheat with a force mage."

"Then why don't you use it all the time?" Isabela raised her eyebrow. Hawke was decent in the fair game, but not really good. She was too impulsive, lively and expressive to hide her emotions well. She was trying to pretend they apply to the dialog, not her cards, but Isabela could read her quite easily. But with this ultimate cheating magic she wouldn't need to worry or be dexterous and cunning.

"It gets boring," Hawke shrugged with a disappointed smile. "No challenge, no interest. Useful when you really need to win, but I prefer the fair game."

"You do it with me anyway," Carver grumped from his corner. "You win all the time."

"No, you just suck, Carver," Hawke said and her brother snorted, turning away. "Well, I'm sorry, dear, but it's true."

"Hmmm, no challenge?" Isabela grinned wickedly and pointed at the group of mercenaries who sat at the next table. "How about we don't cheat each other, but see who can make those guys bite the dust first? And the winner gets the pretty one."

Hawke examined them, wrinkling her nose.

"Alright. But I'm afraid you'll get the pretty one anyway, because that mysterious fellow hides from my gaze."

"You're too picky," Isabela sighed. Hawke wasn't a prude; she clearly had had a few affairs in Kirkwall, though she refused to name them, and she freely flirted with people and joked about sexual themes. But her standards were higher than the Viscount's Keep. Isabela suspected a "little princess" thing going on there. Well, maybe that Anders would make Hawke melt and swoon.

Maker, wouldn't that be a funny sight?

* * *

"That was… quite the entrance," I smirked, when Fenris passed out of sight.

"I hope there will be quite the reward too," Isabela grinned.

"I wouldn't expect too much of a payment from this one…" I said carefully. There are really very few things that I can't tolerate at all and I always sympathize with the victims of slavery, demons and frills on clothes. I wasn't going to take the last coins from a runaway slave.

"So, we went through all this trouble for nothing? Figures," Carver grumped and I glared at him.

"Why?" Isabela leered at me, immediately on guard. Varric stayed quiet for now, but I knew he's very touchy about making a profit too.

"Haven't you noticed? He's barefoot. He probably sold his last boots to hire that jumpy dwarf."

"Well, then he can sell his shirt too and pay  _us_."

"You just want to see how far those markings go," I accused jokingly.  _Come on, he was pretty and exotic, you should be at least intrigued…_

Isabela considered the thought for a second. "Do you think his markings are so… swirly everywhere? Or there could be… different pictures?"She mused in the low voice. Alright, one side is distracted, but Varric required a very different approach.

"Besides, we've already gotten quite a show!" I declared enthusiastically, winking at the dwarf. "How often do you see a white-haired elf in skin-tight armor, glowing as he sticks his hand through another guy's chest? I wouldn't sell tickets for less than a sovereign."

"Well, that could be a good story…" Varric muttered thoughtfully.

Seems we're all good and motivated. For now. I sighed. Being a leader of this band of misfits is no easy job, and certainly a peculiar experience. One day I'll persuade Aveline and Isabela to mutual consent and then I know I'm able to sell nugs as pets to Hightown nobles and convince Meredith that mages should be free.

_Ah, sweet dreams._

"Why does he need to fight them at all?" Isabela asked musingly as we headed to Hightown. "I'm sure there are many people who would find this magical fisting thing worthy of giving him shelter and protection."

"He'd be too noticeable in the Blooming Rose," Carver snorted.

"Word of an expert," I teased as Carver scowled at me, but Isabela continued.

"Yes, but in some private estate, like one that your family once had… and you're going to reclaim soon…" She trailed off, giving me a questioning and a bit of a predatory look. I knew this one, it meant ' _So, what do you think about this piece of man-flesh?_ ' I wrinkled my nose at her.

He was handsome, I couldn't argue with that. But… his white hair, that armor with spiky feathers on his shoulders, and the pattern of his markings… It all just seemed so unnatural and decorative, as if he was designed to be attractive, to make an impression, to catch everyone's eyes. When he stood there in the moonlight, I could mistake him for an exotic statuette. Me, I'm more into natural style.

"We've already dragged one annoying guardswoman from Ferelden! Don't tell me we're collecting stray elves now."

"No, we're not, Carver. You can go home without any worry."

"What? Why?"

"That's an order." I said with my special icy tone, which meant that jokes are over. Fighting with a Tevinter magister wasn't going to be pretty and I won't risk losing my last sibling.

Carver spat on the cobblestones and stormed off without saying goodbye. It's okay, he can hate me all he wants from the safety of home.

* * *

When we walked out of the mansion, Fenris was leaning up against the wall, looking like an actor who is about to start a tragic monologue. And he did.

"It never ends. I escaped a land of dark magic only to have it hunt me at every turn. It is a plague burned into my flesh and my soul."

Now, now, we're quite dramatic, aren't we? The elf finally stopped propping up the wall and came up to me.

"And now I find myself in the company of yet another mage."

Sure, it's clearly a conspiracy, I thought with irritation. He pronounced "mage" in the exactly same tone that Gamlen uses for "your filthy dog".

"I saw you casting spells inside. I should've realized sooner what you really were."

Yeah, you should! And who did you think I was when you first saw me – in obviously mage's robes, with my glowing staff?

_Hush, calm down, girl, poor guy is a victim._

"Tell me then – what manner of mage are you? What is it that you seek?"

Alright, I'm done with calming down.

"Huh?" I said incredulously "Am I shitfaced drunk or are you a Chantry sister so I would confess to you my goals and dreams? Could you come up with something more personal in the first meeting?"

"What color your underclothes are?" Isabela suggested, smirking, but with genuine interest. The elf glanced at her quickly.

"What did you expect to hear?" I continued "I'm a blood mage, I wanna become an abomination and kill everyone around. Feel free not to pay me for my help!"

He frowned hesitantly. "It's merely a precaution. After all I've been through, I won't harbor a viper in my midst."

_What? You know, you arrogant ass, this viper can find better midsts to harbor in!_

A second before getting a fireball full in the face, Fenris held up his hands and said quickly, "I don't mean you, of course. I'm not blind. I know magic has its uses, and there are undoubtedly mages with good intentions. But even the best-intentioned mage can fall prey to temptation, and then their power is a curse to inflict upon others."

Oh, you want to be ridiculous? Alright, I can be ridiculous too.

"Yeah? You know, once a guy with pretty green eyes - just like yours - broke my heart. Does that mean I shouldn't trust anyone with the same feature?"

"It's not the same." He said after a pause, quirking his eyebrow. "I do not possess the power to affect others minds."

"But your eyes  _are_ enchanting." I murmured sweetly. Men always buy flattery and if you just randomly throw it in argument, they don't know how to react.

"You do have pretty eyes, I must agree." Isabela said musingly.

"What if you made me agree to help you in this dangerous adventure? Should I blind you or put an eye-band on you so I can think straight?"

Heh, he's really cute with that 'lost puppy' look. I sighed.

"Hey, look, those Tevinter magisters are real assholes and you hate them, I get it. But that doesn't give you the right to throw accusations at every mage who comes along and, if you hadn't notice, helps you."

He shook his head and cleared his throat

"I imagine I appear ungrateful. If so, I apologize, for nothing could be further from the truth."

I cocked my eyebrow and smirked.

"Actually, serah, you do sound a little ungrateful. And by 'a little' I mean 'the size of an overfed bronto'".

His lips quirked with poorly hidden disdain. He took a purse from his belt and held it out to me.

"If it is the coins you're talking about, here is all I have, as Anso promised."

"I won't take your money." I said, lifting my chin. Varric coughed disapprovingly. "You can keep it as well as your blind hate for mages."

The elf knitted his brows "I do not like to be in debt to…"

He hesitated, choosing a word, and I put in acidly "…a magical viper?"

"…anyone, especially a stranger. So take the money." he finished firmly.

"No." I said stubbornly. "And I'm not keeping you in debt. So good bye, best wishes, yadda yadda."

I turned my back on him, preparing to leave, but he almost growled

"Vishante kaffas! Take it or I'll just drop it here!"

I looked at him, maybe for the first time really looked at him, and something stopped me from snorting, waving him off and walking away.

"Hawke, let's just take the coin as our friend demands and leave nicely." Varric cooed insistently.

Probably I should have done as he said. This elf was a real mess. But… what would happen to him if I walked away?

A former slave, in armor so catchy, without any normal social skills or good contacts…

Maker's breath, he was lucky that Meeran bothered to tell me about that hysterical dwarf – he clearly didn't see this "contact" being worthy for the Red Irons. After a year of dealing with local folk, I could tell that most of the other bands and groups in town would just sell this guy back to his former master, just because it was more profitable.

_Oh shit. This is going to be a royal pain in the ass._

"I will not take your money." I said slowly "But to return your debt, you can help me with an expedition that I'm planning right now. The Deep Roads, lots of fighting, but good profit."

He blinked at me, his dark eyebrows going up in surprise. Isabela and Varric stared at me with the same expression. The elf narrowed his eyes, examining me suspiciously.

I smirked, "Your chance to prove you're not blind, hm?"

"Fair enough." He muttered finally and walked past me to the door. "Should you ever have a need of me, I will be here. If Danarius wishes his mansion back, he is free to return and claim it. Beyond that I am at your disposal."

Normally I wouldn't leave anyone to spend their first night in the city in a mansion full of fresh corpses of demons and abominations. In any other case, I would drag him to the Hanged Man and get him drunk and try to make him feel that he has his back covered. But this ungrateful arrogant trout… Nah, he can sit here and despise me all alone. So I just headed to Lowtown.

Varric managed to feign disinterest for a whole minute or even two.

"And here I thought you didn't like him."

"It's reassuring to know that my storyteller still has his remarkable grasp for the obvious."

"Then why request his help?"

I sighed. "Varric, did you hear that sound when he handled me his purse?"

"What sound?"

"The delicious jingle that coins make when there are many of them in the purse. No? That's why I'm gonna make him work off the full price of our help. Besides, harassing my lil' grumpy brother is no fun anymore. And now I have a new victim to throw all fifty millions dirty jokes about greatswords that I've been collecting for my whole life."

"And it has nothing to do with those shining green eyes?" Isabela murmured wickedly.

"Isabela,  _please_." I rolled my eyes. "If I wanted to hire someone for pretty eyes, I'd go to the Blooming Rose."

"So you won't mind if I go after him?"

"You can go after him all you want, just let me get some sleep right now, deal?" **  
**


	2. She'll make you live her crazy life

**Yeah, she'll make you go insane**

"Varric, I loved 'Hard in Hightown'. What are you planning on writing next?"

Varric thoughtfully sipped his brown ale and sighed. Norah got his order wrong – again.

"Well, Rivaini, actually I'm thinking about a romance novel. About an ordinary girl who is torn between two dark, mysterious guys. A tortured apostate, who is all like 'Stay away from me, I'm a monster! I will drown you in blood" and sparkles when he's angry and the dalish pariah, who's a werewolf because an evil mage cursed him and now he hates all mages."

Isabela grinned, "Hawke is gonna kill you."

"She won't find out. She doesn't read that type of books and besides, I will have other names for characters. The girl is gonna be… Angelica Peacock, for example, the mage – Manders and the elf – Fenkis the Big Wolf."

"Hawke is sooo gonna kill you," Isabela laughed, "But with whom will she end up?"

"I'm not quite sure yet, but I think… the apostate."

"Huh? Well, Varric, I'll tell you what," the pirate leaned up against the table and gave him a lopsided grin. "I don't know about your peacocks, but the ear in which our Hawke is gonna scream her lungs out will be pointy."

Varric raised his eyebrow and smirked.

"Broody elf? Undoubtedly, they make a beautiful couple… if you're deaf or at least have ear plugs. Those two surely do a lot of screaming, but it's more like spitting venom than moaning in passion. On the other hand, she has so much in common with Anders: they are both mages, they are from Ferelden, they're crazy about their freedom. They squee over cats, flirt all day and they even engaged in a tickling match."

"Will you risk 5 sovereigns on that?"

Varric sized the woman up, considered it for a second, and then shrugged.

"Hmm, yeah. I'll take your bet. I don't think Hawke and the elf can stop bickering long enough even for a kiss."

"Hey, sure they won't be all lovey-dovey and live happily ever after. I give them one night of mind-blowing hate-sex and then they never speak about it again."

"Still not convinced. It's not even passive-aggressive 'I hate him, but I want his strong tattooed hands all over me' and 'Her beauty, namely her bright amber eyes, long gorgeous legs and perky breasts, is a vile temptation that I must resist'. No, it's honest barking and mocking."

"You placing your money or not?"

"Fine, fine, Rivaini. You want to lose your money, I'm happy to oblige."

Still, when Isabela swayed her way out of room, Varric frowned, taping his fingers on the table thoughtfully. The pirate  _did_  have a lot of experience in that particular field and if she was so confident, maybe he should try to remember some details and see what he missed…

* * *

This woman amazed him. He just couldn't take his eyes from her.

Mostly because it felt like if he glanced away for a second, she would immediately turn into an abomination and attack him. The greatest mystery about Hawke was that she hadn't become possessed yet. There was probably a tournament or war between demons in the Fade with her as the prize, because she was a walking feast of sins.

Selfish. Power-hungry. Proud. Short-tempered. Narcissistic. Stubborn. Childish. Carefree. Making fun of everything around her. And of course, a pyromaniac. She fought with raw primal energy, summoning rains of fire or storms of lightning on the heads of her enemies. It didn't even look like she controlled or aimed it, rather it seemed as if she was just blindly releasing wild powers of nature. She was a hurricane of destruction, dangerous and uncontrolled. And she was proud of it! She argued over the mage's right for freedom in the center of the Gallows!

"Oh, you make me feel so guilty that instead of sitting here on my ass, I actually help people in the city. Like, saving them from slavers or something."

Fenris frowned, but didn't argue back. He  _did_  owe her a debt, even if he was regretting it now. So he just followed her with his gaze when she walked past him. She took a few steps, her back tensing more with each second before she finally turned to him again

"Oh, and while you're piercing holes in my back, could you please stare precisely at my right shoulder-blade? 'Cause it itches. Thank you."

"I heard a bath can help with things like that."

"Guys," Varric said softly, "if we were in any other location than the Gallows' courtyard, I'd suggest you two to find a room and satisfy all the itches that you have, but right now… can we move on already?"

She reminded him of another black-haired woman and it made him clench his fists so tightly that metal claws of his gloves dug into his palms. Hadriana.

Though at the first sight they seemed as different as ice and fire – the Tevinter mage was cold, calculating and self-controlled while the Ferelden refugee apparently couldn't manage tactics more complex than "rushing into any problem that comes into her sight." But it could be easily explained with her origins – she just lacked the imperial luster. The true, inner essence of them was the same, as always: selfish, hollow, social-climbing and not caring for anything beyond magic and freedom. And inexplicably, it seemed that every mage just couldn't help but try to mock him. But now he didn't have to bear it silently.

* * *

"Hawke, can you satisfy my curiosity?" Varric asked, approaching the mage.

She shot a fast glance at him, furrowing her brows in severe concentration and biting her lip. She was juggling small fireballs and looked way more focused than she ever was in actual combat.

"How can I keep all five of them in the air at once? Well, it's an experiment in the combination of force and fire magic and…"

"No, no, not that. As fascinating as your skill is, I have another question. "

"Hmmm?"

"Why did you kill that slaver? You got me to bluff him into believing the boy was the viscount's son and still you attacked him. What was the point? You could have easily shaken the mage and the coins out of him and walked away without a fight."

"Varric, I fear your stories about me meeting slavers are going to be a little predictable," Hawke muttered absently, not looking away from her juggling. "In the end, the slaver always dies."

"Huh, okay, got your point." The dwarf glanced at Fenris, who was walking a few steps away and staring at the ground as if it personally offended him. As an information broker, Varric had a very accurate idea about the radius of the elven capability of unintentional eavesdropping. The warrior was doomed to hear every conversation in their little party. And if Varric got Hawke, who was now distracted and unusually non-snarky, to say something nice about the elf, it should… warm up things between those two. And things needed to be warmed up, because for now even a Merchant's Guild meeting was a love fest in comparison.

"Then it seems you and the broody elf have much in common."

"What? Oh, shit…" She snorted and dropped one fireball. "Like what, we don't grow beards?"

"You both hate the same things – slavery, blood magic…"

"Look, Varric," she sighed and all the fireballs turned into little fiery griffons and flew away. Hawke spread her hands wide, "He hates everything. And as any normal person, I hate some things." She outlined a small circle in the air. "Everything includes something by definition. Go ask him, I'm sure he hates the Merchant's Guild too. And excuse me, I'm going to practice tossing these over my shoulder. I will be a bit dangerous to be around. Just saying."

Yep, Hawke's way of warming things up. Fireball.

* * *

"Isabela, how many attempts do you think it will take you to cut off that red flower's bud on the top of that cliff with your dagger?"

"Hmmm… rather long distance… On the second try, perhaps."

"50 silvers that I can do it with one lightning strike."

"Without destroying the whole flower? Huh, let's see!"

This time Fenris took a grim pleasure imagining how Danarius would pull out what little hair he still had at the sight of this travesty. In Tevinter, magic was a lethal weapon to gain power and rule over people, not a toy to play with out of boredom. Not for Hawke. She could juggle fireballs, create icy figurines and brag about them to others or levitate things around just for a laugh. When she wasn't chasing her mabari or singing absurd songs with the pirate, of course. Any magister would die from humiliation if forced to do any of this, but Hawke was proud of every second of it.

But with the possessed healer around it was even worse. Not just because they would run around, throwing snowballs at each other or something equally idiotic. No, he would also try to flirt with her, telling his 'touching stories' and there was no way to not hear that pathetic nonsense. Her eyes reminded him of sweetness of the wild honey that he tried in his first escape from the Circle.

"It was a taste of my freedom, Hawke, and I wonder… does it really tastes like you?..."

Wild honey is bitter, you moron! Besides, Hawke's eyes and honey? Not so dim and more brightly yellow. Like a fried egg, perhaps.

* * *

"The Keeper didn't mention you were a mage," Hawke said with curiosity in her voice.

"I imagine it's difficult to give away something nobody wants," Fenris snarled sarcastically and from the way Hawke very slowly turned to him, narrowing her eyes into slits, Varric could tell there was going to be fight. Again.

"All keepers know a bit of old magic," The Dalish explained, probably not recognizing venom in the other elf's words. In this company, Varric felt bad for her already. "The stories tell us that all elvhen once had the gift, but like so many things, it was lost."

"Well, some of them lost even a banal civility," Hawke stated acidly, staring pointedly at the warrior and he turned to her, quirking his eyebrow and folding his arms. Shit was about to be flipped and Varric stepped up to the Dalish girl, smiling wildly.

"Stories? I love stories. Actually I'm an expert in stories."

Fortunately, it was very easy to distract Merrill, who was more than eager to just ramble adorably about elven history. But Varric actually listened to the snarling behind his back, preparing to interrupt before somebody got killed.

"I imagine it's difficult not to be an asshole to someone you've just met?" Hawke mimicked the elf's words.

"Maybe it's the way they say "Hello and thank you for your help" in Tevinter," Anders managed to get a word in before lightning started to strike really fast.

"With a mage you must take your chance before he turns on you."

"Because every mage dreams only about the chance to stab you in the back! We're not forgetting who the wanted one is here, don't you worry!"

"You know nothing of being hunted!"

"Oh, really? I have been on the run for my whole life and I will be until I die. There is an entire Order of Templars and the Chantry after me!"

"And they want to rip the flesh from your bones?"

"So I should piss into the Grand Divine's tea to make it personal and have a right to call you out on being a rude pig to a naive girl? Something nobody wants… blargh! And she's not a thing to give away, you of all people should know that!"

Varric could tell this blow hit home because the elf paused long enough for Anders to butt in.

"I don't understand why you're scowling when you should be delighted. There is now one more mage to bitch about! Isn't that your life's purpose?"

When Fenris finally spoke, his voice was quiet and low.

"I suspect you wouldn't be so eager to defend this witch if she wasn't one of your kind."

"Last time I checked my kind was humanity. And shit, no, if you'd had a grudge against redheads, I'd defend them as well. I will not tolerate blind prejudice."

"Then why are you not storming the Gallows right now?"

"I'm not a fanatic or a fool with delusions of grandeur. I don't answer for the world order, but I do answer for myself and I will make what little difference I can. And the smallest difference is to treat everyone as an equal and worthy being before he proves different."

"This presumption of innocence will get you killed. The benefit of the doubt contradicts the rules of survival."

"I don't want to spend my life surviving. I will live the way I see right or die fighting for my choice."

Varric felt he was the only adult, one who had to look after a bunch of pugnacious kids. When he finally got them moving, Anders was unusually silent and ground-staring; Hawke and Fenris were glaring daggers at each other. They met another Dalish, who barked at the elf mage – Varric's story sense tingled intensely, and the look Hawke gave Fenris over Merrill's head… oh boy, if she had any talent in Entropy, the elf would be mute for the rest of his life.

"Sundermount seems very… mountainous today. Lots of… rocks and hills," Hawke smiled at the Dalish girl reassuringly and they continued moving. Merrill led the way, which was probably for the best, because the girl seemed rather impressionable and could get a heart attack if she'd accidently caught one of the glares between a certain pair. It was almost fascinating that those two seemed to have a sensible dialog through only grimaces and gazes. Varric managed to decipher only a couple of the first lines: Hawke's " _Say something and you're dead_ " look and Fenris's scornful " _I don't need to repeat the obvious_ " scowl. But they kept it up until they entered the caverns, where it was too dark and spiderous to continue.

* * *

Tevinter's value system was twisted and fallacious. Everything and everyone has a price, where you're worthy as long as someone was willing to pay for you and your self-esteem can't be higher than your market price… He ran from the Imperium three years ago, he despised and hated everything about it, but its judgments were still slipping off of his tongue at the small details. And a mage of all people had to point it out to him.

A principled mage. It sounded just as absurdly improbable as… whatever creatures people described in fairy tales to their children. But it was clearly just a childish whim. She knew nothing of real oppression or striving for survival. She would undoubtedly give up those beliefs after the first disappointment.

Of course, there was a possibility to meet a strong, noble and selfless mage just as there was a possibility to find the diamond pendant of the Orlesian Empress in a pile of rotten fish in Antiva. But to give a monster an opportunity to stab you in the back just because you can possibly offend an innocent… plain suicide.

And the Dalish mage proved him right straight away.

"Blood magic? Foolish, very foolish," Fenris stated calmly after the witch opened a passage. Not surprising, only foolish. Let's see how Hawke's idealism withstands this.

"Yes, it was blood magic, but I know what I'm doing. The spirit helped us, didn't it?" Merrill turned to them, giving what she considered an 'explanation'. Helpful spirit.  _Really_.

"Call it what it is. You summoned a demon," Hawke's eyes narrowed, expression changing from silent shock to cold disdain.

"Demons are just spirits. Like honor or joy. It's not their fault they are what they are."

"Ignore the tiger. Not it's fault that it's going to eat you. Sound advice."

"Oh, I'm not blaming the demon for being a demon. I'm blaming you for being an idiot who made a deal with it!"

Fenris already opened his mouth to habitually snap back and then realized that this time he and Hawke were actually on the same side.

_Would wonders never cease?_

"I needed help! If I had piles of lyrium lying around, I could have used that, but I didn't. I used what I had."

"Really? I've heard better excuses from thieves and murderers! Maybe you should go and find those blasted piles of lyrium? There is an expedition heading to the Deep Roads right now, I'm sure there would be lots of lyrium down there. Or there is always contraband. But it's hard and difficult and dirty. You need to do jobs, meet people, find ways to think it through. Why bother if you can just sell your blood, yeah?"

"Well, that's certainly an innovated comparison, but… " the dwarf finally interrupted Hawke's passionate rant.

Comparing blood magic to prostitution? Priceless. For all her flaws, Hawke was such a spit in any magister's face.

"Yes, yes, we keep going," Hawke snorted, shaking her head. Then she looked up at Fenris, her chin stubbornly high, and said firmly "And still you were wrong."

He wanted to smirk and say "We shall see", but kept silent and just followed her. The only reason he stood there now was that proud, idealistic people died for his right to be free. The right that he himself renounced. He could argue with Hawke, but even if he hated to admit, he stayed because he knew – when Danarius came, she would fight, no matter the odds.

He muttered a quiet curse and it tasted bitter. Like wild honey, he thought with a dark smirk.

* * *

"Hawke, you're a leader…" Varric started solemnly, but Hawke snorted.

"What, really? I thought I was just the resident firecracker."

"You're a leader and a good leader has to find a common cause even with the most different people."

"Oh, I can tell where this is going – somewhere very broody and grouchy."

"Hawke. I'm sorry, but you two are absolutely unbearable together. It's not healthy for a group when the leader and the main fighter want to kill each other more than our enemies."

"And what am I supposed to do? Stop being a mage?"

"Just try to talk about anything not relating to magic. It's not so hard, you know."

"A-ha, but I already know how it'll look like. "Fenris, what is your favorite book?" – "Malleus Maleficarum"

"Still, would it kill you to try to be friendly?"

"I'm trying to be friendly! You can't imagine how much willpower it takes to not summon a little black cloud above his head! To complete his image, I mean."

"Hawke," Varric said mildly. With that girl you just stop talking at some point or she will joke around for ages. After a few seconds of silence Hawke finally huffed

"Alright, alright. I'll go try and talk to him. Just for you, Varric."

Varric watched as she came up to the elf and made an exaggeratedly sugary smile.

"Why does Flemeth 'see a great deal' huh? 'The chains are broken, but are you truly free?' Pfft! I can give even more pretentious bullshit. Watch this!" She cleared her throat and howled, "You can try to wash your past by dying your hair white, but the darkness of your eyebrows will always give you away!"

Varric sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"Right now I'm trying to pretend that I'm following someone more capable than a clown mage, but your inane prodding make this impossible," Fenris scowled at her, rather lazily than with actual rancor.

"See?" Hawke turned to Varric, pointing at the elf, "I tried to be friendly and discuss his hairstyle, but he just insulted me! He calls me names again!"

"It's just his way to systemize the world around him. I'm a funny dwarf, for example," Varric said with resignation. At this point he was convinced that those two just can't communicate for good.

* * *

"I did not scream and jump back from the Shade, I… stepped backward to have room to gracefully swing my staff. And it was not "just one Shade", it was "a vicious unnatural creature that unexpectedly appeared from nothing," Hawke said dramatically, throwing her hands up, in what apparently was supposed to illustrate the Shade's sudden attack.

She and the dwarf often discussed recent events, formally to "develop an official version for the public", but in fact they tried to 'out bullshit each other' as the pirate called it. At first Fenris considered it pathetic self-flattery, then as a sarcastic match of verbal skills and irony, because everyone knew that Varric would exaggerate things in his stories anyway. But now he came to realize the deeper purpose of those storytelling jokes – it was a way for every member of the group to criticize Hawke's battle tactics, point out her or anyone else's mistakes and make suggestions. Completely ridiculous and unacceptable in any serious organization, of course, but Fenris had to admit, it worked for this small group of very independent and proud people. He witnessed how Hawke and Isabela drew up a strategy to deal with traps this way and it was quite effective.

"And of course you've slaughtered it with just a single spell?" Varric suggested jokingly and Hawke nodded with serious face.

"Sure. And don't forget gracefully. Have we covered it all?"

"You forgot an Arcane Horror. Is it going to be gracefully burned or gracefully smashed?"

"Hmmm… Oh, I know! It's kind of a mage, yeah? So we'll have Fenris glaring and scowling at it until the poor creature runs into a corner and bursts into tears. We're hitting two templars with one spell here: first, it'll show how scary our elf is, and second, it'll subtly praise my own bravery. Because I manage to endure his scowling and glaring without fear on a daily basis."

So she wanted a fight. Fine, it's not like he had anything better to do than to kick at rocks on the road.

"Very well, but what will happen with the Arcane Horror after that?" Varric was speaking to Hawke, but the elf caught his curious glance.

"Considering a blood mage and an abomination which we already have in our company, I suggest Hawke coddles the monster and then recruits it," Fenris said with faked nonchalance. Hawke blinked at him in surprise and suddenly laughed.

"Well, alright, you got me there," She smiled broadly, looking up at him. "Do you have any other suggestions? I'm considering a Darkspawn Emissary. "

The most maddening thing about her was that while she stated her opinions rather openly, Fenris still didn't know what to expect from her one minute to the next. She never tried to play mysterious – or just never bothered to – but she could start a furious fight over a brief random comment, make idiotic faces in answer to serious accusations or laugh and encourage open sarcasm in her own address. It didn't fit with any experience he had with mages or leaders in whole.

But this company felt strangely right at the moment. Probably because Hawke took him seriously. Not once had she ignored him, ordered him to shut up or tried to soothe him with diplomatic nonsense. No, she would hear his arguments and answer every single one of them. For the first time in his life – at least in the part he remembered – his opinions actually mattered and the fact that he could speak his mind to a mage was doubly satisfying.

Still, he had one question for her and he was waiting for an appropriate moment to ask it.

He got the opportunity one cloudy morning. Ironically, Fenris, who lived in Hightown, was first at the Hanged Man, waiting for the others. Hawke came in next, yawning and blinking sleepily. She sized him up from under half-closed eyelids and muttered grievingly.

"Oh, wonderful. Just the bundle of joy I needed to cheer up this morning."

This time Fenris didn't take part in their usual exchange of courtesies. He straightened up – he reminded himself to draw up in her presence, because he once accused her in being as reckless as every other mage and got "Well, but you're such a special snowflake – humpbacked elf!" as retort.

"Hawke," He said slowly, "We're not getting along well."

Hawke froze in the middle of yawn, then closed her mouth and finally fully opened her eyes.

"But why? You keep your observation skills just as sharp as your sword. Nothing gets past you. See, I can praise you all day!"

He knew her well enough to take that as sarcastic agreement and continued.

"Then why do you take me with you all the time? You are not petty enough to care so much about coins that I should work off."

Hawke stared at him for a few seconds and sighed.

"Honestly?" She scratched her head and shrugged with lopsided grin, "I need a capable warrior and don't want to put my brother in danger. This whole mess with the templars is my problem and he doesn't have to risk himself for me. If something happens to me, he would take care of mother. Of course, there is also Aveline, but… She's perfect for taking a stand and protecting position till the last breath, but my combat style is more about…"

"Swooping out of nowhere and storming across the battlefield before enemies can figure out it's not a volcanic eruption?"

"Well, yeah, sort of, though I was going to say "Attack is the best form of defense". And besides, you're a better warrior than Carver. But, oh, don't take it as flattery; I could say that about probably half of the Ferelden army."

Fenris nodded, suppressing a smirk. Such a peculiar sort of pride. She was so concerned to not let him think even for a moment that she wanted to make a good impression. It was almost tempting to pretend to be flattered just to see how she would panic.

"It… you're not offended or something?" Hawke asked warily, titling her head to the side.

"What? That you're concerned about your own brother's well-being more than for mine? I'm wounded, but I'll try to live it through."

She chuckled softly, then glanced across the room.

"Andraste's fuzzy whiskers, where are our rogues? How about we go and pretend that I want to set the tavern on fire and you're trying to stop me? I bet  _that_  should wake them up."

Stupidly idealistic, but not vile. Proud to no end, but not supercilious. Somewhat trustful, but not blind. Young, but not incompetent. He couldn't say he truly understood her even for a second, but he was quite sure that if she wanted to get rid of him, it wouldn't be a silent stab in the back. No, he'd expect a rather loud and sarcastic notification and a finger, poked at his nose. It was more than he usually had to count on.

* * *

"But you do frolic?" Varic confirmed jokingly and the young dalish nodded with adorable solemnity.

"Of course we do! We wouldn't be elves, otherwise."

"Hold it! Fenris. You are no elf!"

Oh shit, Varric thought tiredly. Why now? The-word-that-must-not-be-said-around-Hawke-and-Fenris hadn't been used!

"So you too keep your observation skills just as sharp as your sword," the elf just raised his eyebrow, not turning his head to the mage.

"But she doesn't have a sword..." Merrill gave the dwarf puzzled look, "Oh, wait… sarcasm, right?"

"Right, Daisy. You're getting good at recognizing it."

"You don't frolic, do you?" Hawke asked insolently "And our… expert in elven culture and history says it's an indispensable condition."

"She means me, yes? Did I say something wrong?" The dalish whispered in the Varric's ear cautiously

"No, everything's good. It's called verbal sparring. But if you try to get involved, it can become a verbal assassination. So just don't listen to them."

"Then I should probably leave to frolic next time you are cornered with four giant spiders."

"I wouldn't get myself cornered, if I hadn't needed to find an angle from where I could throw a fireball without setting your ass on fire."

"I didn't realize I'm massive enough to occupy such an enormous amount of space. I shall endeavor to exist within a more appropriate extent."

"You should endeavor to exist somewhere not in the center of an enemy's group at least until I cast the first spell."

* * *

There had to be a diligently hidden, but mutual respect. Because even if the elf second-guessed Hawke's every move, he still accepted her decisions. Because Hawke actually bothered to argue with him over abstract matters. Both short-tempered, proud and with the same degree of sarcasm. Different enough to never completely understand, but also too stubborn to give up. No shit, it could…

"Varric! Did that moody grumbler bite you?"

"What?" Varric looked up at Hawke, who laughed, walked to his table and sat next to him.

"You're brooooding! What's up?"

"Probably going to lose 5 sovereigns to Isabela."

"Huh, at least you're not alone. You know, she said she once paid for a night in the brothel and in the last hour gambled all her money back!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can totally see my Hawke and Isabela singing "Livin' la vida loca" like Donkey and Puss'n'Boots from Shrek 2.


	3. What your eyes can do

**If your body matches what your eyes can do, you'd probably move right through me on my way to you**

There was that heavy and piercing sensation on the back of my neck. Fenris is making his weekly "check up for any signs of demonic possession". Ugh, Maker's sniff, this guy can drill holes in the walls with his gaze.

"Oh Maker, no! Something's happening with me, I can't control it! I'm becoming an abomination, help me! Aaaaaaaaa... Chooo! Oh, that was just a sneeze. Sorry."

The elf snorted with irritation, but the staring ended. I smirked.

"Maker bless you." Anders said pleasantly, grinning and winking at me. "But that sneeze was pretty convincing. Are you really sick?"

"Well, I did catch a little cold." I admitted. "Drafts in Gamlen's hovel are terrible and I always toss off the sheets in my sleep."

He frowned and put up his hand, casting a spell on me. "Better now?"

I sniffed and blinked, listening to myself.

"Yeah, I think it's completely gone! Thank you, Anders."

"It was my pleasure. Why didn't you ask earlier?"

"Um… Didn't want to bother you with such nonsense."

"You can bother me with anything at any time. But as much as I enjoy taking care of you, I wonder why you never use healing magic yourself."

"That's not a mystery. I plainly suck at it. I'm more of a burning and throwing things around kind of mage."

"I can teach you, if you want."

"What? I don't think it's a good idea. I can't heal to save my life!...Ugh, that sounded lame, but you get the point. "

"You never had a competent teacher. And I can certainly use your help in my clinic."

"Well, alright, sounds like a deal. But don't start hitting your head against the wall when I mess something up."

I'd like to put a label on Fenris once and for all and stop worrying. Anders had no problems with it. "Maniac", "monster", "beast", "close-minded" have been raining down on him since their first meeting. Considering him as a blind ignoramus would make it easy to brush aside all his arguments. Problem is - he does have arguments, and they are reasonable and valid, even if he makes harsh extremist conclusions based on them. Even if only judging by well-composed logical chains, he is smart. And he can be observant and rational when he cares enough to show it. And his dry sarcasm. How can he have such a sharp sense of humor and still throw pretentious accusations all around? Ugh, that elf.  _That_  elf!

"Fenris" I asked pointedly loudly and heedfully, giving him the best innocent look I could master "Are you alright?"

"I'm perfectly fine." He cocked his eyebrow, slightly turning his head to me. I continued to imitate Merrill.

"Maybe you're feeling a little sick?"

"No."

"Then you probably forget to clean your ears this morning?"

"Am I supposed to believe there's some acceptable purpose to these questions?"

"I've been arguing with Knight-Captain Cullen about the oppression of mages and  _you haven't said a word_. I assume you had a short-term deafness?"

Fenris suddenly stopped in his tracks and stared at me seriously and intently.

"No. I was thinking about your words… You're right. I was such a fool. Without the wonders that magic brings, the world would be a hollow place. Mages should be free."

I opened my mouth, then closed it, feeling my right eye twitching. Fenris examined me for a moment, then turned to Varric, who was walking behind us, and held out his hand.

"She's speechless. My money, dwarf."

It took me a couple of seconds to realize what was going on.

"You made a bet on me? You bastards!"

"I was expecting more from you, Hawke" Varric muttered, handing coins over to the elf. I huffed. Sure, the set up was obvious, I just wasn't expecting anything like that from Fenris!

"Oh, you're going to get it! My revenge will be… unspeakable! You will hide under your beds and quiver in terror!"

"Does that mean we can go home now?" The elf smirked, as we continued walking.

"No, quiver on your own time."

"Then I'm not convinced."

"You can shut up any time now."

"Ladies first."

"One should not talk in such a manner with someone with iron heels if one is barefoot himself."

" from a mage."

"It seems you're getting along finally," Varric stated cheerfully. "You sound just like an old married couple."

* * *

Javaris waited at the foot of the stairs with gloomy qunari all around. They clearly weren't feeling hospitable. Oh shit, why do I need to be here? I did my part of the job, why must I deal with those guys too? I don't want to catch a glimpse of qunari culture, I just want my money!

Javaris saw me coming up to him – very reluctantly though – and gleefully declared to one of the qunari.

"Ah, my right hand arrives! Summon your Arishok – the bargain is done!"

"Your right hand? I'm not so short-limbed, chubby and hairy. Keep your titles to yourself, please," I whispered coldly. The dwarf snorted.

"About time you showed. I've been here for hours."

For hours? Alright, the dwarf has the nerve, I'll give him that. If I had been forced to stand there under all of those qunari stares, I would have had a mental breakdown in half an hour.

Then the Arishok appeared and I suddenly remembered how mother used to scare me with promises that the big angry qunari will come and gore me if I didn't eat my porridge.

Andraste's flaming nostrils, that's exactly what I imagined those scary qunari would look like.

The Arishok sat down on some weird chair with monster's heads carved out on both ends. He put his gigantic sharp-clawed hands on his knees and stared at us, looking menacing, disgusted and bored at the same time.

The silence started to become awkward. Javaris probably was gathering his wits or wanted me to say something, but hah, no, dwarf, you started it, you handle this guy, and I don't care how…

"Arishokost. Maraas shokra," the respectful, but confident gravelly voice said from somewhere to my right. "Anaan esaam Qun."

I don't know who was more surprised at Fenris' greeting - the Arishok or me. Probably me, because the Arishok was first to speak

"The Qun?From an elf?The madness of this… place."

You said it, bro! What in the Void was that?

"Tell me that helped," I whispered tensely to Fenris out of the corner of my mouth. "Because if you just called his mother a hornless cow, I'm not defending your tattooed ass!"

"We shall see," Fenris looked at me calmly and I suppressed a sigh. Very reassuring. Javaris finally started to talk.

"Well, yes, that said, I am here to report that your hated Tal-Vashoth have been felled one and all. Right?" He looked up at me and I nodded quickly "Yes, they were. So, I'm ready to open negotiations. For the explosive we agreed."

The Arishok shifted on his seat, frowned with even more disgust and said curtly.

"No."

What? No? Just no? What the…

"He's not getting it. Make your chatty elf say something." Javaris muttered to me. I barely managed to keep myself from elbowing Fenris in the side. I whispered through the gritted teeth.

"Do something, I don't care, but if he kills us, I'm fireballing you."

Fenris didn't condescend to even glance at me. Well, at least he bothered to speak in common this time.

"Qunari do not abandon a debt. I humbly request a clarification from the Arishok."

"I have a growing lack of disgust for you," the Arishok stated, examining the elf.

And I have a growing lack of understanding what's going on here. Was it a good sign?

"The dwarf imagined the deal for gaatlok. He invented a task to prove his worth, when he has none." The Arishok explained.

"Then we wrongly inserted ourselves in your affairs. Would you have us kill this dwarf?"

"Wait. What now?" Javaris looked up at me.

Yeah, come again, Fenris? I thought you were homicidal only about mages, have you got a second specialization?

"If you faced Tal-Vashoth, he is not worthy of dying to you. As he was not worthy of dying to them."

What? Not worthy of dying?.. What the bullshit? You mean, if he attacks you now, you won't kill him because he's not worthy of dying? You don't make any sense!

"But you… you keep good company."

Did he just tell Fenris that I'm a good company? I stifled the nervous chuckle.

"Let him live. And leave."

Wait, leave? What about my coin? Those Tal-Vashoth were a bunch of tough bastards to take down!

"He had big plans for your recipe." I started warily, glancing at Fenris. He looked at me from the corner of the eye and nodded ever so slightly. I folded my arms and continued more boldly. "I was supposed to get a piece of that."

The Arishok's eyebrows knitted with an effect of clashed mountain chains.

"Dwarf, did your imaginary bargain make promises on my behalf?"

Javaris shuffled on his feet nervously, looking down.

"I… expected your wisdom to be more profitable."

All of qunari suddenly stood up, squaring their shoulders and casually drawing their weapons. My hand instinctively reached out for the staff, but Fenris made a short restraining gesture, not looking at me. I froze, then took a deep breath and slowly lowered my arm.

"Then you will pay, on my behalf." The Arishok stood up as well and demanded in a vicious growl. It took a three seconds for the dwarf to break down and I've gotta say, he lasted long for this situation.

"Sod it all, take your coin. Take whatever." Javaris finally burst out, turning to me and tossing his hands up. He took a purse from his belt and threw it to me; I barely managed to catch it.

"Horn-head oxmen and mongrel dog lords." The dwarf cursed, as he turned and walked away. "Suck your own powder and blow your head off. Sod it!"

"You will leave as well, human." The Arishok said, shifting his gaze from Javaris to me. "There's no more coin for you."

I nodded and tried not to run as I walk away. I took a deep breath when we came out of the compound's gates and, Maker's breath, for the first time the stinking smell of the docks seemed sweet.

I shook my head, coming to normal senses, and then stared at Fenris expectantly. But of course he looked imperturbably as if nothing happened.

"I didn't know you speak the Qun."

"You don't know many things about me."

Ugh. This guy is impossible. But, well, fair enough.

"Alright, let's put it in other way. I wasn't expecting this from you."

"Why not?"

"I don't know… lack of horns? Though you guys are certainly sharing the same brooding demeanor."

The elf shrugged shortly. "I do not follow the Qun myself, but I'm familiar with it."

"And you didn't think it would be a nice idea to let me know before we headed there? Maybe give me some tips?"

He seemed to be taken aback. "I… didn't think you would listen to my advice."

"Huh? I listen to all your rants about magic, why wouldn't I listen to something actually useful?"

He looked at me with scrutiny, though this time he wasn't to search for any signs of a corrupt gaze, more like curious and cautious  _"Can I believe in this?"_

"That remains to be seen." He said finally and I rolled my eyes.

"You just… Ugh, but you know what? You're totally losing your Champion of Scowls title to this guy. You can't beat his "No".

I could swear there was a ghost of a smile for a split second.

* * *

"Why are you watching me like that?" Fenris growled from behind my back, and when he  _starts_  conversation with growling, you know it's not gonna end pretty.

"You have vallaslin. The same markings that the Dalish have."

The same? You've got to be kidding me, girl. Varric told you his story, why are you bringing this up? Jeez, Merrill, you don't have a single bit of tact in your whole body, do you? Even I don't go there.

"Yours are not made of lyrium." Fenris stated flatly.

"No, they're made of blood. Our blood. That's what vallaslin means: blood writing. It's a mark of adulthood."

Comparing your symbolic fancy tattoos to his brands, the constant reminder of slavery? What's next? Telling Anders that a Tranquility mark looks pretty and he should get one on his forehead? And after that you wonder why you never had friends.

"Hey, Merrill!" I cut in with a cheerful smile, turning to her and stepping in her path. Fenris gave me a long look from under raised eyebrow, but walked past us without a word."I've wanted to ask you for a long time. What kind of demon it was? You know, the one you made a deal with. Oh, I'm sorry, I meant "the spirit". So, it was spirit of Ignorance or spirit of Importunity?"

Merrill blinked at me with her large, uncomprehending eyes and pouted. "Did I say something wrong?"

I glanced back to make sure the elf was far enough to not hear me and said quietly. "He doesn't like to talk about those markings. Leave him be."

"Are you the only one allowed to pester me?" Fenris asked me with a hint of amusement in his voice a few minutes after I took the lead.

"Of course not. Have I ever stopped Anders from that? If she confronted you about magic, I would support her…"

"I wonder how long it would take for "blood magic" or "demons" themes to come up."

"That's not the point. The point is, it's alright to wrangle about something that one can choose for himself. Like ridiculously tight pants or constant grumping. But you didn't receive your markings by choice."

There was long pause and I thought we were done for now, but he spoke up again.

"We have to bear the consequences of what we are regardless of who has made us so," he said flatly and not looking at me.

Oh, you're going to bring up responsibility for magic again, aren't you?

"The cured werewolf we've encountered on the Wounded Coast… Do you truly believe it was right to defend him against the Dalish? Her claims were just."

The poor guy, who killed an innocent, because he was cursed to be a werewolf until my heroic cousin broke the spell? What, fights about magic are getting boring recently? Or are you gonna contradict me just on general principal?

"Of course I believe so! His very nature was twisted and he hasn't even realized what was wrong with him. He tries to live normally now and, shit yeah, he deserved this."

He finally looked at me, his intent and searching eyes fixed on me, so I barely kept myself from backing away because of the tension.

"The fact that the beast knew nothing but the rage didn't lessen the suffering of his victims."

"So what, let's just kill him and deprive him of any chance to become something else? It wasn't his fault, he…"

Then it finally clicked together. He wasn't talking about a werewolf, he was talking…

The magister wouldn't create a living weapon only for protection. Fenris probably had more blood on his hands than the whole werewolf's pack.

He read that realization in my widened eyes and quickly turned away, quickening his pace and crouching down even more than usual. I took a deep breath, swallowed and caught up with him. He shot a guarded look at me, but I kept silent, just walking by his side. I heard how he quietly breathed out seconds later and bit my lip. I didn't know what to say, but he would take anything as pity now anyway. What I could give now was acceptance, for what it's worth.

People usually break into a self-pitying misery under such weight or blindly seek atonement, even if it formal, or just forget about it, erasing it from conscience. Clearly Fenris realized that there never would be true forgiveness and I couldn't sugar coat it as well. He also didn't forget anything, constantly beating himself up, but still managing to give a cocky attitude to others. This combination of bitterness, self-doubt, wry humor and edgy pride, all kept together by sheer willpower… You're such an unbelievable mess, elf, and I'm probably not making it easier for you, yeah?

* * *

"Agreggio Pavali. There are six bottles in the cellar. Danarius used to have me pour it for his guests. My appearance intimidated them, he said, which he enjoyed."

I stood in the doorway, folding my arms and uneasily eyeing Fenris. I dropped by his mansion on my way from Aveline's post to tell him about changing plans for tomorrow and found him somewhat drunk and apparently in the mood to pour out unsettling facts of his past. It felt quite uncomfortable, partly because attempting to comprehend the way those Tevinter bastards think gave me a headache, but more than that I was concerned that the elf would start to vent his anger at me like most drunken men do. Even Gamlen tries it sometimes, even though he knows I can toss him across the room with a snap of my fingers.

"So that's how you got used to scowl all the time? Sorry, but I don't think you're scary even with those grimaces." I shrugged absently, preparing to give a formal polite excuse and get the hell out of there.

The corner of his mouth twitched in a small grim grin."None of his guests were like you."

He took a long sip from the bottle, thensuddenly threw it at the wall. I almost jumped at that, but the elf merely smirked and looked at me calmly

"It's good I can still take pleasure in the small things."

You have a very wrong conception of pleasure, serah. But well, if he wants to walk on shattered glass in his bare feet, who am I to argue?

"You could have offered me a glass first, you know." I muttered, still eyeing the red stains on the wall. Fenris shrugged.

"There's more if you're really interested."

Huh? I didn't expect him to take me seriously. Much less, that he would bother to offer me another bottle.

"Perish the thought." I waved my hand, thinking up a way to get myself out of this. "How else would you redecorate the walls?"

Then my jaw nearly landed somewhere in the Deep Roads, because Fenris laughed. It was a short, quiet laugh, but it was genuine. I thought he could only smile when a mage died and was incapable of laughing at all! All the more laughing at himself!

Before I collected myself enough to come up with something more intelligent than "Ugh, wow", the elf sighed quietly and looked down.

"I've wanted to leave my past behind me. But it won't stay there." He took a few steps to the bench in front of the fireplace and nodded at another one, as if inviting me to sit down. I did only out of sheer astonishment, blinking and staring at him as a disheveled owl, awakened in the middle of the day. "Tell me, have you never wanted to return to Ferelden?"

_Who are you and what did you do with Fenris?_

There was something different about the way he looked at me now. It took me almost a minute to figure out. For the first time there wasn't the grim expectation of me suddenly slapping him or spiting on his face.

"I have no home left to return to." I answered stiffly, but he didn't leave it

"The Blight is over. You could rebuild what you lost. Do you truly not want to?"

Why is he of all people asking me this? No one else displayed any interest in how I felt about my troubles. Well, Varric interrogated me, but just for the sake of storytelling, asking me sometimes tactless questions about what I thought about the ogre who killed my sister a minute later. Of course I laughed it off. But Fenris looked at me with a genuine interest and I knew he wouldn't bother to ask just out of politeness.

"My mother came from Kirkwall. Our heritage is here." Mother is too old for dragging her across the sea again and Carver is not good in adapting to new places too.

"Having a place to put down roots. I understand." Fenris nodded thoughtfully. Then he looked away, letting a strand of his hair hide his eyes, and said quietly with a sigh more implied than actually let out. "Still, to have the option… must be gratifying."

Of coooourse! That's why he's asking me! It's one of the few things we're actually had in common – the escape from the homeland. We both ran away, though for different reasons.

"You've been on the run for a long time, then?" I asked warily.

"Three years now. Danarius has a way of finding me – perhaps it is the markings?"

Usually I'd put a remark about "maybe it's ridiculously noticeable armor or sour trail of broodiness", but not in this case. I'm pretty sure it  _is_  the markings. After spending some time around him, I could practically feel them too, not a real sensation, more like just awareness of his presence nearby. It was weird at first, but not disturbing or obtrusive. Actually it was easier to get used to than Isabela's cloud of heavy aroma.

"Whatever the means, it never takes him long to follow. This is the first time I've given him reason to pause. I suppose there are advantages in numbers."

"Haven't you sought help before?" I asked, quirking my eyebrow. Sure, he's not a "people person", but he puts up even with me after all.

"Hirelings, when I could steal the coin. Never anyone of substance – until you. Danarius will not give up, however. I await his return."

"Do the magisters in Tevinter really not have anything more thrilling to do? Like, consorting with demons or ruling the Imperium?"

"It's a matter of pride for him. And even if he does give up, I'll go to him. I will not live with a wolf at my back."

I nodded. He's amazingly reasonable today. "Sounds like the right idea to me."

"If it comes to that. I doubt it will."

I frowned, studying him. "You could track that sick bastard down, I assume."

"I imagine he has returned to Minrathous, though I dare not to go near the city while he's alive. No, it is better to wait for him to leave his fortress. Fight from a fortified position. I do not expect your help when that day comes, but I would not turn it aside."

"Oh, jeez, quit the pretending." I waved a hand at him with a lopsided grin "You  _know_  I always kill slavers when I have the chance. But if you're expecting to have me around, I assume you're staying in Kirkwall?"

"I haven't decided. For now it's as good as any other place. I would return to Seheron if I could, but… there is no life for me there."

As Varric would say, I sense a story here.

"Is that where you're from?"

"So I've been told." He answered curtly.

"Were you very young when you left, then?"

"Perhaps."

Alright, don't push it; he's falling into his "qunari laconism" mode again.

"Maybe it's just me, but it sounds like you want to stick around." I smiled to ease the mood.

"I could see myself staying – for the right reasons." He said slowly, eyeing me intensely, but without his usual hostility. Strange, it felt more unsettling this way. Probably because I couldn't figure out what was there now.

"Hey, isn't the Hanged Man's glorious ale the right enough reason for you? That was what sold this city for me!"

He smirked briefly, with equal parts of sarcastic disgust and amusement. It's funny how much he could express, lifting just one eyebrow and the corner of his mouth.

"I should thank you again for helping me with the hunters."

"Yeah, you should." I couldn't help myself, but Fenris continued without taking offense. I guess he just got used to my constant snarking. I wonder what he was like before that ritual. Maybe without that prejudice we could have even liked each other?

"Had I known Anso would find me a woman so capable, I might have asked him to look sooner."

"You're such a gentleman when you're not an ass." I muttered, lifting up my usual sarcastic shields, and came up to my feet.

"Perhaps I'll practice my flattery for your next visit? With any luck I'll become better at it." He stood up too and smiled and… Maker's breath, for all bitterness and anger that is in him I couldn't imagine he could smile so…brightly? Warmly? I smiled back, walking past him to the entrance.

"Good luck then," I teased, looked back over my shoulder and received another smile, almost tripping over the threshold. It was like the sun, glinting through the cracked muddy window.

…Have you just compared Fenris to the sunshine and  _not_  sarcastically? Andraste's painted toenails, are you delusional, girl?

Actually, delusion was probably a suitable answer, because we just… talked like normal people? Without bringing up magic, barking and glaring at each other? Really?And… "my next visit"? Is that an invitation? Also…"flattery"? What's going on here, huh?

* * *

_**Dear diary and every nosy bastard who likes to peep into my journal, I have news to blow your mind. Fenris can laugh! No shit! And it wasn't "Hawke hit herself with her own spell" laugh or something. Well, he was a bit drunk, but not enough to not recognize me or to giggle uncontrollably. Though I hadn't got a chance to taste the wine. He threw the bottle at the wall. Another wonder, he hadn't aimed at me! I've gotta say, I like him drunk. Maybe I should add wine to his health potions?** _

_**/** _

_Oh, how could you waste such rare chance? Shame on you! Now, let me teach you how you should act the next time!_

_"Perish the thought." Hawke purred seductively and rose to her feet in one smooth motion of a jungle cat. "Who would taste wine from the bottle, when there's so much more delicious… opportunity."_

_She approached him slowly, never taking her liquid-golden eyes from his emerald ones. He suddenly felt himself dazed and paralyzed, as though she had cast a spell on him. The very way she moved was meant to mesmerize, enchant, hold him. The way she walked, almost dancingly graceful, the maddeningly swaying of her hips, her perfect breasts bouncing lightly and silk wave of untamed raven locks showing off the noble paleness of her skin…_

_He shuddered, but couldn't make himself step back, when her pouty cherry lips touched his with the lightness of a feather. Her elegant fingers gently trailed the features of his handsome face, from strong jaw to high, perfectly sculptured cheekbones. She kissed his bottom lip, applying more gentle pressure with each second. His lips parted involuntarily and she caught his lip in her teeth teasingly like a cat that plays with a trembling scared bird she just hunted down. Her deft fingers caressed the line of his earlobe, her other hand resting on his strong, muscular chest against the rapidly beating heart. The heat of her touch rushed through his body, setting him on fire and leaving him burning, but yearning for more. When her soft, warm tongue licked his lip, his mouth opened like the gates of a defeated castle, helpless and ready to welcome the_ _conqueror…_

_Why is your stupid mabari trying to hump my leg?_

_/_

_**Because I ordered him to humiliate anyone, who reads my journal without my permission. Next time he'll piss on you. So stay out of my stuff, Isabela! And if you won't, I can show that nonsense you've wrote there to a certain someone and you'll get a nice greatsword in your skull. You know I would do it just to see him flip his shit at someone other than me, so don't tempt me!** _


	4. My friend of misery

**There's much more to life than what you see, My friend of misery**

Isabela opened the chest and examined the contents inside skeptically. Rusty spoons, a moth-eaten scarf, moldy doll, pouch of pebbles, torn trousers… all to go to Hawke.

"Feeling generous today, dear Isabela?"

"Well, that's me. As I always say, I'm a helper."

_'…And this pretty shiny bracelet we'll keep for ourselves. Hawke can't appreciate fine jewelry anyway, so… Wait, what's this…'_

"Hawke!" Isabela broke her internal dialog and turned to the mage, cheerfully waving her trophy.

"You said I bought a stupid hat last week? Well, look at this and think again!"

"Andraste's spiky hair rollers, what is that thing?"

"It's a hat. For mages!"

It was actually a conehead cowl, a terrible wrap of purple fabric similar to the kind that you do with a towel after a bath, but made even more ridiculous with tassels, long dangling trinkets and a fuzzy pom-pom. The unsightly configuration was capped off with an engraving of fanciful design resting at the forehead.

Hawke snorted "For mages? It's enchanted? Jeez, who would be crazy enough to enchant this horrible crap?"

"It looks like some kind of joke."Varric mused, examining the hat with eyes narrowed in mirth. "As if someone knew how stupid it looks and enchanted it to make power-crawling fools wear it anyway. What some people would put on for better bonuses..."

"I've never saw anything that looked so ridiculous." Hawke shook her head, then sized up Fenris, who kept silent all this time, and muttered, "Well, headgear at least."

"Will you ever shut up about my armor?" the elf growled.

"Take it off. I bet that will make her shut up." Isabela purred, and both of them decidedly ignored her.

"Just after you shut up about magic. I mean, look at that, you have feathers at your metal gloves. Feathers! For what? To tickle poor bastards while you sticking your hand through their chests?"

 _Now I just_ _ **have**_ _to write something dirty about him getting revenge for all her mockery with those feathers in her journal_ , Isabela sighed inwardly.  _The girl just asks for it._

"Oh, sure it's easy for you to say. You wear only boring stuff." Isabela interrupted, nodding at Hawke's grey battle tunic that, as she said, was from her father's legacy. Actually, it looked stylish on the mage, complementing her slender frame with a simple design, but also adding some spice with a wide red belt and spiky metal shoulder-pads. "You don't have the guts to put on something really… unusual."

The mage lowered her head and narrowed her eyes in a manner that Isabela called "diving hawk".

"No one says that Hawke doesn't have guts."

"Huh, Prove it." The pirate leaned forward, holding the hat out for Hawke. "Wear it for the rest of the day. I dare you."

The mage looked her over with narrowed determined eyes.

"There are men who struggle against destiny, only to have it swallow them whole." Hawke walked up to the pirate and snatched the cowl out of her hands, "and there are men who embrace destiny…" she yanked the cowl over her head and stuck out her jaw with deliberate arrogance, "and do not show their fear. That's how I roll."

She snapped her fingers, "Varric, write it down, I want it as an epigraph in my biography."

"A man walks down the street in that hat, people know he's not afraid of anything." Varric grinned broadly.

"Damn straight! I… Ouch!" the big trinket slipped down from Hawke's forehead and hit her on the nose. Hawke cursed and lifted it back up. "Alright, now that it's absolutely clear who is the boss here, let us move on."

"Sure. And now we no longer need to worry about losing our fearless leader."

"I'm a Ferelden Tower of Magi! Got it? I should tell that one to Anders."

"She was so bright that she had to wear a lampshade." Varric declared, dramatically waving his hand.

"Where are we heading?" Isabela asked, keeping herself from smirking at Hawke's efforts to keep her trinket from falling down.

"Blooming Rose. Now that I'm this dashing, I expect to get everyone for free."

"Oh, but where am I supposed to go when your bankrupting them?"

Hawke smirked and then explained her real plans "I want to tell Jethann about Ninette's death. He seemed to really care for her."

"How kind of you. Or maybe you want to comfort him later?" Isabela grinned wickedly and Hawke snorted.

"What? No! Though he is interesting for an elf…"

"Interesting?"

"Well, you know, redhead and those large sky-before-the-storm deep-blue eyes, not usual elven green."

"I thought you preferred green. What was that about a guy who broke your heart or something?"

"Pffft, that one? Well, I'm not sure getting completely wasted and throwing up on my boots counts as heartbreak."

"Hah, happens to everyone, so yeah. You like redheads?"

"Hit on Aveline for the whole year."

"Heh. Second choice?"

"Brunettes."

"Oh, poor blond Anders."

"Well, he has another advantage. Stubble."

"You like it? Really?"

"I guess it's because of my dad. I seem to associate it with manliness or something."

"You like redheads and manly. Aveline is meant to be your true love."

"Heh. Interesting possibility but I expect my true love to be less… lawful."

Something in Hawke's tone made Isabela turn and raise her eyebrows.

"You believe in true love? Really?"

The mage sighed and rolled her eyes.

"I know, I don't look like the type, but you can't deny it if you spent your whole life around it. You just haven't seen my parents together. My mother gave up her rich sheltered life for constant hiding from templars, and father left his adventures of the free, reckless mercenary. We had really tough times, we were on the run for my whole life, but hey, it was worth it. We were happy."

"But then why are you not… hmmm, how should I put it… saving yourself for… eh, 'the one?"

"Jeez no! That's the point – this shit is real. Once you get into it, there's no turning back. You're ready to change your life completely, you sacrifice your ego, lifestyle, you have to put up with your beloved's flaws, past, bad habits. There are no more decisions made only for yourself, because you share everything, live for each other. In short, a whole ton of responsibility. And you don't even get to look at anyone else. So I want to have my fun before I'm doomed." Hawke gave a lopsided grin.

"Maybe it's not so dire. Seems your father was pretty cunning guy, perhaps he had his fun without anyone being the wiser, eh?"

"Isabela." Hawke stopped abruptly and turned to the pirate, her voice pointedly calm and controlled, but her eyes wild yellow. "You do not want to get a slap from a force mage."

_Oh, we're so touchy. Daddy's little girl. Oh alright, be that way._

"I don't want be slapped by anyone. Unless it's foreplay."

* * *

This guy was the most creepy, weird, twisted and incoherent creature I've ever met, and I made a deal with the legendary Witch of the Wilds  _and_ looked eye to hollow eye socket at a Revenant.

The chained qunari mage loomed, silent as the grave. When I tried talking to him, he only growled. He followed me, step after step, without hesitation; without any emotion, not trying to fight or run. He just towered, indifferent, emotionless, never taking his heavy gaze from me.

It was just plain scary.

More importantly, he was getting on my nerves. It was distracting and put me off balance, and that stupid trinket kept falling down from my forehead…

Eventually, I managed to rush headlong into a trap. Flamethrowers in the opposite walls burst out behind my back. I leaped forward, Varric was far enough to avoid the blaze and Isabela somersaulted away. Fenris, caught in the middle, ran through it with a long chain of curses in Tevene. The qunari mage just kept walking, following me through the flames, not trying to escape, not hesitating, in his slow, deliberate manner. He didn't even flinch!

Man, it's wrong, it's just so wrong. It's unnatural, it's against all common sense and instincts, it's weird, no one should act this way, no one should deny themselves so blindly and pointlessly and…

"Hey, hey, elf,  _calm down_!" Varric shouted worryingly.

I looked away from Ketojan and saw Fenris, crossing the distance between us with wide steps and a determined gaze fixed on my face.

I backed away, hit the wall with my shoulder-blades and swallowed hard.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't want to… Fenris, don't!..."he stopped, hovering over me, and raised his hand. I pulled my head into my shoulders and prepared to throw him away with a spell. With one swift finger, and without touching me, he lifted the trinket up, something clicked and it mercifully stopped dangling. I stared at him, my mouth opened stupidly.

"And here I hoped to paw over you while I dragged you away. Spoilsport." Isabela muttered with disappointment, appearing behind Fenris's back. Varric lowered his crossbow with a chuckle. Fenris threw a cold gaze at the pirate before walking away. I poked the trinket at my forehead carefully, but it seemed to be fastened properly.

"Erm, thanks?"

"How did you know that, elf?" Varric asked curiously.

"It's a common fashion in Tevinter." Fenris answered flatly.

"Really?" I shook my head, trying to make the trinket fall again, but it was apparently locked in place. "Jeez, poor bastards… I mean, can you imagine it? The boy walks down the street and all the other kids laugh and scream at him "Dunce cap! Fool! Looser!" And of course that little mage cries and makes a deal with demons to prove to everyone that he's cool. Like, you know, "I'll show them! I'll show 'em all!"

"This is why I always say that hats are serious business." Isabela nodded, readjusting her kerchief.

"As I am in awe of your endless wisdom, Isabela, I suggest you take the lead. And check for the traps while you're on that, please."

"You such a slave driver." The pirate sighed crossly, but obeyed.

Actually, I hoped that the qunari would follow her now if she were leading, but no, he has his priorities straight. A sudden chill ran down my spine. Will he stop following me when we leave town? How will I force him to if he won't? Jeez, what did I get myself into?...

I sighed, caught up with the elf and coughed. "Fenris, mmm… sorry for that trap."

He raised an eyebrow and said with a short smirk, but without rancor, "I always thought if you ever set me on fire, it would be by your own fireball."

"Yeah, I know, embarrassing. Can we just forget it and start the count over?"

"Consider it so." He nodded with calm dignity. I chuckled, then cleared my throat.

"When we first saw this qunari, you called him… errr… Sara-something?"

"Saarebas. It's qunari word for a mage. Means "dangerous thing".

"Nice."

"It was not my idea this time."

"Yeah, I know, I just… Can you tell me more about them? I mean, what's wrong with him, he's just so creepy and strange and… Why does he act like… this?"

Fenris frowned, glancing back at the qunari.

"I'm afraid I can't help you with that. I've never interacted with a Saarebas myself. I know only that they are always chained and kept under constant control by an Arvaarad. I guess it makes following the lead their primary mode of behaving. This mage seems indifferent to our struggles, even with his freedom as the prize."

"Jeez, that's just… I don't like qunari, it's official. I mean, they're like another form of life. I can understand what demons want even if they're so different from us. But those guys… "

"They strive for certainty in their lives." He looked away and said slowly with strange hollowness in the voice, but then shook his head abruptly and muttered with usual sarcasm, "I can understand your confusion since your purpose is completely opposite from that."

I scoffed and made a face at him, but continued walking by his side. Probably because he knew qunari I felt less nervous around him.

"They get the idea, qunari… Ketojan… whatever! Calm yourself!"

He growled, lowered his hands and the fire around him died out. I breathed out and sized him up suspiciously.

"You did what I said. Did I hit the right phrase or something?"

And again he only growled in answer. Ugh, shit.

"He may not know, himself." Fenris said thoughtfully.

Jeez, I'm trying to understand how to deal with this completely messed up guy, who randomly explodes, and you are not helping, elf!

"You can't gesture, or stomp your feet twice if you understand or  _something_?"

He growled again. Does he even understand what I say?

"I bet all he wants is to go chasing after thrown sticks. And someone to rub his belly." Isabela almost purred.

Nope, my mabari has more personality, independence and willfulness. And he's way easier to communicate with!

"Did you react because your lead was threatened?"

Again just another grunt as answer. Fenris spoke up with the same calm hollowness as earlier.

"I know that kind of blind instinct. It is hard to judge how much control he has."

What do you mean, you know that kind of blind instinct? You're snarking and second-guessing just about everything around and… Oh jeez, no…

Scattered pieces suddenly clicked together. I looked at Fenris: always stooped over, always with slightly bent knees, 'brooding and moping' as Varric called it, and instead saw pictures, which were everywhere in Kirkwall and which I considered as artistic exaggeration – crouching white silhouette of a slave with face hidden in his hands in woe. I looked at this Ketojan, collared, in chains, blindly following me, in spite of his pain, without any intention to decide for himself and…

 _"...He kept me on a leash like a qunari mage._ "

I'm sorry, Maker's breath, I'm so sorry…

It's not that I didn't know all of this before, it's just that it never really sunk in. Of course, I always felt bad for Fenris. If I hadn't known he was a slave once, I would just break his nose and walk away when he started ranting about my magic. I couldn't think that it was actually worse before, because he's already messed up beyond my experience. My parents rarely ever shouted at me, not to speak of any severe compulsion. Slavery was an abstract term, something very terrible, wrong and horrific, but it existed only somewhere very far, far away and it was meant without saying that all slaves wanted to break free. But now I looked at this qunari and if Fenris ever was even slightly like him…

The difference between those two, the leap he had to make to become who he is now… it's just effing unbelievable. Bad social skills and defensiveness…It's amazing that he functions at all. He managed to pull himself out from this hollow, blind, lifeless obedience and what do I do? I mock his armor and crouched back. He struggles out of a swamp, literally blind and without any support and I criticize his lack of grace.

I have never felt like a totally petty shit. Ever.

"Let us… move on." I said, trying to sound calm. "And you… Ketojan, please, try not to explode."

* * *

Hawke sat in a dark corner of the Hanged Man, slumped over her mug. If it wasn't for this cowl, Fenris wouldn't have recognized her.

It must be a real shock for her: first seeing another mage in chains, and then watching him die in his own fire.

It was clear she thought it happened because of her, that much was certain. She had not looked away from the fire until the flames died out over the Saarebas's half-burned corpse. Trembling, she had backed away from the ashes, and then she was unfamiliarly silent and grim. It didn't suit her, and more importantly she didn't deserve feelings of guilt over how she had decided to treat him.

Hawke made no secret of the fact that she didn't like qunari and yet, she fought a whole company of mercenaries over the body of one of their dead and then told the Viscount that his son had a right to choose his own friends.

She didn't understand the Qun, and no wonder. Hawke was the essence of freedom and, how Fenris already knew, freedom could be anything but certainty.

He took a seat next to her and she raised her eyes to give him an unusually exhausted and haunted look.

"Please, can we put off the criticism and second-guessing for today at least? I had the impression that you wouldn't beat a dead horse."

"It wasn't your fault." He said quietly.

"I… I just feel as if I denied him his choice. You know, that I should've just let them take him nicely and leave. It was what he wanted, but I thought he was forced and I didn't let him go, but he decided to die after that and… ugh…"

The sudden outburst of rambling died off and Fenris sighed deeply. It was like describing swimming for a bird.

"You couldn't deny his choice. For qunari, the only choice is existence."

She narrowed her eyes "Wait, you mean, even if I…"

"They would have killed him anyway, because he could have been corrupted. And then they most likely would have attacked us, because we interacted with a mage off the lead."

"Oh…" Hawke murmured, frowning. "It's just so screwed up… It's like no matter what you say or do, it wouldn't have changed anything. What did he say? 'Certainty is a comfort.' Certainty in what exactly? That every day will be a copy of the last one? Without any growth, movement or change? Hmpf, how pointless is that?"

He didn't even try to explain to her that if there are no dreams or hope, there would be no disappointments. If there is only one acceptable choice, you don't question or doubt it.

A hawk wouldn't understand a fear of flying.

"It's not certainty." She said slowly, lost in her thoughts "It's chains. Every one of them is chained by the Qun, even the Arishok. He doesn't decide anything, he does what he must. If existence is their only choice, then all free qunari are dead."

She suddenly looked up at him, as if she had opened her eyes for the first time. It was like watching a bonfire flaring up from a little spark. It started in eyes that became bright and vivid, and then flashed into a broad smile and eventually lightened up the whole of her face. He felt himself smiling back and looked away.

"Thank you. I would have eaten myself up for days over it."

"I merely told you what I knew. You certainly have better things to concern yourself with." He scowled, attempting to look indifferent.

She snorted, that smile not wavering in the slightest. "I mean it. I owe you a drink. What do you want? Corff actually has good stuff if you know how to ask. Not as fancy as your Aggregio maybe, but still decent."

He shrugged "I don't care."

"No, that's not how gratitude works. You don't repay a kindness with just anything, it has to be something special. What's your favorite?"

"I don't have favorite."

"Umm… How is that?..."

"You think they make wine sampling for slaves in Tevinter?"

"Ugh, surely not, but you were free for three years and…"

"And I was on the run, hiding from hunters and saving every coin. You think I had time for that?"

"I see." She said slowly, eying him with uncertainty before she got a familiar look on her face. Fenris knew that look; after which she usually would say something like " _You, serah, are going to be saved._ "

"I don't need your pity." He growled. She just raised her eyebrows and laughed

"Pity? I don't pity you! I'm actually almost envious."

He stared at her in disbelief and she explained, waving her hands enthusiastically.

"You have a whole world in front of you! All these awesome things just wait for you to discover them. It's exciting!"

"No. It's ridiculous." He gritted through clenched teeth, but she leaned forward stubbornly.

"No, you're ridiculous. You live in your former's master mansion, wear the armor he gave you and even drink his favorite wine! Freedom is not only about not doing things you don't like, it's also about doing things that you  _do_ like. Just because you want to! But then again...You don't like anything."

"And what would you have me do? Go through the bazaar, trying everything that catches the eye, like a laughingstock for the crowd?"

"Jeez, sure, you have to maintain your perfect reputation." She shook her head with irritation "Alright, I can go with you and be the laughingstock. Nobody will notice you in the gigantic shadow of my silliness. Just ask Carver."

"You?" He quirked his eyebrow, crossing his arms "Why would you do that?"

"'Cause it's fun! I mean, all those little things that we don't value when we try them for the first time… It would be just awesome to try it again, savoring all the nuances…"

"You are insane." He stated seriously. She grinned even wider.

"Well, it doesn't mean I'm wrong. Come on, why not?"

Why not? You can't just go and try everything you never had, it's childish, senseless and stupid, and everyone else already knows all those things… How did she make everything sound so simple? Why did she even care?..

"Enough of this inane mocking!" he sprang up and walked away as fast as he could without running.

"Andraste's fragrant armpits, for the first time I'm serious and you… We're not done! Do you hear me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, hats are not so hideous in DA2, but I still can't forget (and forgive!) all my cringing when I looked at my mage in DAO. Feel my pain!


	5. It can be a tad hysterical

**Find a four leaf clover where you never saw a flower, She's habitually paradoxical, a parallel perpendicular**

_Two days after the first_ _meeting_ _and four hours after a shouting match in the Gallows' courtyard_

"Lessi."

"Ingrid."

"Duncanina."

"What? Bullshit, Isabela!"

"No! It's a real name! I've met a girl with that name in Nevarra."

"Duncan is a Ferelden name and it does not have a feminine form. Besides, I just can't see how someone could think that he wants to name his baby Duncanina."

"Well, maybe he had a great mentor named Duncan, who died too early, and this someone decided to name his firstborn in honor of Duncan, but – ooops! - got the girl?"

"No way."

"Hah! Wanna make a bet on what name the next Ferelden princess will have?"

"What is her name?" Fenris asked the dwarf quietly. Varric looked up, still grinning

"Ferelden princess? Well, there's still no heir in Ferelden, but I did hear that the previous Commander of the Grey, who once recruited the new king, was named Duncan."

"What? No, not that. What is Hawke's name?"

"Oh, you still don't know Hawke's name?" of course, the dwarf had to say it out loud and the two women immediately turned to them

"Sure he doesn't; He's too busy throwing accusations to ask! Don't tell him, people. He can stick with his own 'Viper'."

"Viper Hawke is a bit much, don't you think?" Isabela smirked with fake concern.

Fenris turned away.

Fine. If she didn't want to tell him her name, he wouldn't bother to care about it.

"Why? It's a mysterious and unnatural predator, the personification of magic." Hawke waved her hands dramatically "Can you think of anything more unexpected, dangerous and creepy?"

"Spider Bear?" Varric suggested cheerfully and the mage laughed.

"Alright, hands down. I still have so much to learn from you, oh worldliest of storytellers."

* * *

_Five days after the first meeting and last slaver's attack_

"Hey, elf!"

Fenris turned around abruptly, instantly gripping the hilt of his sword. But it was just another Hightown merchant, Hawke's friend, from whom she bought runes.

"What is it?" he asked warily, stepping up to the dwarf. Worthy, he remembered.

"Some fishy guys were asking about you around Hightown. Foreigners. Haven't seen 'em since, but I thought you should know."

"Why are you telling me this?" the elf asked suspiciously. Dwarf shrugged

"You're Hawke's friend and she let folk know, if anyone tries to set you up, they'll have troubles with her.  _personally_. Girl has a hell of a reputation among hirelings here."

"She warned the mercs not to trouble me?" Fenris blinked dumbly.

Worthy chuckled.

"She's a great lass. You're lucky to work with her, and you'd best stick with her. Maybe around her isn't the quietest place in Kirkwall; but if you get into trouble, you know you can always count on Hawke. When she left the Red Irons, several of the boys suggested going with her; but Hawke, she refused to entice people from her former allies. That's how true nobility shows, not in fancy clothes, I always say."

Fenris nodded, looking away awkwardly. It felt uncomfortable to be called Hawke's "friend" and still not know her name.

* * *

_One and half week after the first meeting and about dozen mutual life-savings later_

"So, what is Hawke's name?" he asked nonchalantly, glancing at the pirate.

"Can I squeeze your butt if I tell you?" Isabela grinned wickedly.

"No." Fenris scowled, rolling up his eyes.

"Come on, just a little! You can't expect me to cross Hawke without any reward!"

"I happen to stick with a payment system that differs from the Blooming Rose's price list."

"You're  _such_  a spoilsport." The pirate sighed, but then winked at him and said loudly enough for the viscount all the way on the other side of the city to hear, "If you really want to know, she has her name embroidered on her thongs."

Hawke turned round abruptly "What? How do you…"

"Oh, those old-fashioned nobles have their names and emblems embroidered in absolutely everything that could be skewered with a needle. And they put crests on everything else."

The mage pointed a finger at the pirate and narrowed her eyes menacingly.

"Isabela, if you're not only marring my journal, but also leering over my underwear…"

"Of course not! What do you think I am, some kind of nosy, creepy pervert?"

"I'm putting explosive runes on my trunk." Hawke said dryly.

Isabela snorted and smiled innocently, but the mage squinted at them again.

"Wait, why were you two discussing my  _thongs_ in the first place?"

"He wanted to know your name" the rogue shrugged.

"Oh?" Hawke raised her eyebrows with taunting smirk "Why are you suddenly so persistently interested?"

"Two questions hardly can be considered as 'persistent interest'." Fenris muttered sourly, but the women were already coming to their own conclusions.

"Ah, I bet he needs something to scream out in his fantasies. He's probably associating you with hotness because of your fireballs. And "Oh, Hawke!" sounds too formal and doesn't suit the mood."

"Hmm, really. What would be a good name to cry out? How about 'Oh, Melisandre!'? Or 'Oh, Lyanna!'? Maybe 'Oh, Cersei!'…"

"Isabela is perfect for this. That's how I made my choice. That's also why I changed it from the common spelling. No one would drawl the second 'l' at the peak, right?"

* * *

_Two weeks after the first meeting and one day after taking the same side in argument about magic_

The only time her smile was false was when the dwarf sent her to try and "be friends" with him. But it was clearly intended insincerity and each time she tried to come up with something even more ridiculous than before. He was actually curious how long she would be able to keep this up.

"You know, we actually do have things in common. My name has an elven origin. It's Gvalahamudriel, what means 'Someone with whom you'd better not mess around'."

"It's gibberish, not elven."

She just laughed. "You're from Tevinter and it's a language of Ferelden elves!"

"There's only one elven language."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I  _am_  an elf."

"We haven't confirmed that. I still haven't seen you frolicking."

* * *

_Three weeks after the first meeting and one day before the death of Ketojan._

"Alright. My name is Dazdraperma."

Fenris scoffed "And  _that's_  the best you managed to come up with?"

"Really! When my father was still an adventurer, he had to make a deal with a demon to save his life. And the price was to name his firstborn after a demon. It's supposed to lead me to the dark path."

"So that's why we always have to force our way through the most shady and dirty back streets?"

"Why don't you believe me? It's a sign of corruption! I thought you would be excited!"

"I can barely restrain my joy."

"Huh? What do you know about me? Maybe I'm broken inside and hide it behind a mask of humor and laughs?"

He turned to her and she fell out of step when she met his eyes.

"No." he said, trying to not sound bitter "You know nothing of being broken. Praise the Maker for that. Some people never get the chance to be whole."

_Three and half weeks after the first meeting and five days after an exchange of not-mocking and only slightly drunk smiles_

"So, listen up!" Hawke beamed at him mischievously, obviously preparing something special. "My first syllable is flying in the skies…"

"Maker's breath, sister, stop it! It's just Erica!" Her younger brother interrupted with an irritated groan.

'"Why do you always have to spoil my fun, Carver? It's not my fault that you don't have your own!" Hawke shouted out with sincere disappointment. She threw a grim look at the elf "Happy at last?"

Surprisingly, he felt that maybe he would miss that silly game. A little.

"It doesn't feel as satisfying as one could expect" He said honestly, but she took it the wrong way.

"I'm sorry I have such a boring name." She muttered and walked forward, not looking at him or at her brother.

* * *

_One month after the first meeting and two days before the departure of Deep Roads expedition_

"So, what is the job?" Fenris asked, examining the small dark bar in the basement of one of the Hightown estates. He and Hawke were able to get there only with avoiding several complicated guard patrols and one barely avoided fight, because Hawke just can't say two sentences straight without adding a joke.

"It's for Aveline. This is an illegal bar of contraband elite wines. You know, the viscount raised custom duties recently, so stuff in the majority of taverns dosn't get any better than the Hanged Man's ale. So places like this are kinda popping out of nowhere, like mushrooms after the rain. So our soon-to-be-Guard-Captain asked me to… infiltrate to find out how it works, what they sell besides the wine… Like lyrium. Or virgin's blood."

"And you took me with you, because I'm the most inconspicuous person you could think of."

"Varric can't risk his reputation with working for a guard, Anders can't drink, Isabela won't go in any bar without the main purpose of getting laid and Merrill… Must I really start about Merrill? Besides, you _do_  drink wine, so why not?"

He eyed her incredulously, trying to decide if that was true or she was merely implementing her recent, absurd idea. On the one hand, it was hard to believe that she would care enough to put so much effort just to get him into a wine sampling. And that she would try to spare his pride and let him pretend it's just another job.

On the other hand, Hawke was so stubborn and unpredictable that you can expect anything.

"Fine." He said wryly "Then you do all the tasting and I'll keep a clear head."

She rolled her eyes up and growled "Alright. I tried to maliciously lure you into tasting awesome stuff. Bite my head off. But you owe me one luring, do you remember?"

He frowned, examining her with quirked eyebrow.

"Oh, come on, we're already here! Maybe that Aggregio will still be the best, but it should be  _your_  choice, not that magister-jerk."

Finally he sighed with resignation and she flashed that fiery triumphant smile of hers that always made even finding another piece of junk seem as a great achievement.

* * *

_Two hours and six glasses later_

"Do you know what your name means in Arcanum?" he asked, staring at the wine in his glass. It was shot with dark shade of purple in the dim light. "Heather."

Hawke snorted "Yeah, and it also means "eternal ruler" or something like that in the old language. It doesn't matter. I prefer narcissuses and Maker knows, I'm no ruler."

He took a long sip of his wine and muttered, not looking at her.

"At least your name was given with the best intentions. Fenris means "little wolf". Undoubtedly Danarius chose it as pet name."

"Bah!" She frowned and bumped her glass against the table, miraculously not breaking it. "Who cares about what that sick bastard wanted? Your name doesn't define you."

He smiled shortly and bitterly, involuntarily scratching his markings at his throat.

"Name doesn't."

"Actually…" Hawke chewed at her lip and then shook her head "Ah, never mind."

"What is it?"

"Nothing. Silly drunken thoughts, not worthy of speaking aloud."

"Oh?" he grinned provocatively, "If  _you_  consider something too silly to say aloud, I'm intrigued."

She rolled her eyes "You're gonna get offended."

"I've survived your pirate's compliments. Try me."

She sighed and muttered slowly

"The markings at your throat… they actually remind me of a fish bone. You know, a spine, ribs… and caudal fin under the lower lip."

He stared at her blankly, absently rubbing his jaw. Even if Danarius hadn't bothered to put any meaningful symbolism in Fenris's markings, he still would be outraged at the impression of his "masterpiece".

"I hate fish." The elf said dryly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to insult you, really…"

"Well, I did drag it out of you. At least now I understand why you always call me ridiculous."

"Because of that? Certainly not. I've seen Carver's mabari bark, you need something way more interesting than just glowing lyrium markings to impress me."

"Perhaps lyrium breasts will help." He mused with a sour voice and she laughed. They filled their glasses from the next bottle and took a sip in silence. This wine was red, made of currants, with a fresh, unexpectedly deep and rich taste. Fenris listened to himself and decided that he liked it.

"You know, one of my cousins, Ravyl, always wanted to be a warrior." Hawke said slowly, in her "storyteller's" tunable, almost songful tone "He practiced with his "training sword", which was actually just a stick, and "dueled" with Carver all the time. When we played together, he always was a brave hero, a knight in shining armor, to fight evil and save the princess."

"And you were the princess?" Fenris smirked with a curiously quirked eyebrow and she laughed again.

"Maker, no! Bethany always was the princess. Well, they suggested me once, but I said I wouldn't be taken prisoner without at least breaking someone's nose. They let me be after that. I mean, being a princess is so boring! You just sit and wait for the rescue. Blargh."

"Then who were you? I don't think there was "an apostate mercenary" role in a fairytale."

"Surely not." She grinned smugly, settling back at her chair "I was an evil, cunning, but alluring sorceress."

He smirked "Well, its true in life at least partly."

"Oh, please, don't start with the evil magic again…"

"I didn't mean that."

"Then… you think I'm… cunning?"

"I wouldn't deny that possibility."

"Ugh, you… Why are we talking about me suddenly? It was about my cousin!"

"Sure" he nodded innocently, enjoying her brief embarrassment, and reached for the next bottle to fill their glasses "Please, continue."

She sized him up suspiciously, but then relaxed

"So, he discovered his magic at ten and the templars did the same in the next year. He was taken to the Circle. Aunt Rivka was heartbroken, my mother was horrified, but I believed firmly that Ravyl would manage to get things his way eventually. I was eight at that time and just couldn't accept that I'd never see him again."

Fenris took a long sip, examining her thoughtful face. He never had relations or illusions to lose. Well, at least good ones, he thought, remembering his blind, humbled loyalty to Danarius and trying not to cringe.

"And you know what?" Hawke suddenly beamed at him mischievously, distracting him from shameful memories "He did! Not only did he free himself from the Circle by joining the Grey Wardens  _and_  stopping the Blight, but he also became a warrior! He discovered some ancient technique, the teachings of the Arcane Warriors that allows the use of magic for improving physical and battle capabilities, as I understood it. Anders told me that Ravyl fights in heavy armor, with shield and longsword, just as he always wanted."

She sighed slowly, her face wreathed in a dreamy, rapturous smile. It was strange to see always skeptical, sarcastic Hawke being so unashamedly impressed. It wasn't because of blood relation: she mocked her own brother just as acidly as anyone else.

"I still can't believe it. My own cousin, a boy with whom we were having pillow fights, now the Hero of Ferelden, Commander of the Grey and the Arl of Amaranthine. I'm so damn proud of him."

Her adoration stirred in Fenris two different thoughts: first, there were at least two decent mages in Thedas, which was a surprise; and second, no one would ever say anything like that about him, which wasn't a surprise, but still felt bitter.

"So destiny, impossibility, predefinition and everything else is bullshit! Only you decide who you are going to be. Nothing and no one can stop you, not circumstances, failures or mistakes."

' _Some cases are just lost. You can't build a citadel of only clay and dirt. Some things could be lost forever and you can live your whole life not even imaging that you could be something more.'_

But there was such an unbending, daring belief in her shining eyes, such proud fire in her smile; he couldn't bring himself to argue with her. Or maybe just didn't want to.

"But at first you must decide who you want to be. That's the tricky part." He said quietly, looking away and reaching for the next bottle.

"A free man with his own mansion and a snarky comment to everything is a good start." Hawke said with unusually soft and warm smile and Fenris let himself smile back.

* * *

_**Dear diary, our expedition is leaving tomorrow and I'm so drunk and excited, I can barely keep myself from jumping out of my pants. I'm such a sucker for new experiences and I have so much to look forward in that expedition. I'm taking Anders, Varric and Fenris with me, because as I always say, you should try everything before making a choice. Open-minded, based on your own experience, choice is what defines a truly free personality. And now I have a whole range there: a human, elf, dwarf and mage, warrior, rogue. Both scales are complete at the same time. Just perfect! I can try everything at once! And there are so many possible combinations! I expect a big hot deal from theelf and mage in tandem. And of course, just thinking about all four of us, together… it makes my lady parts wibble! Can't wait for it!** _

_**/** _

_Varric, may I never again take part in a good foursome, I swear I didn't do it! It's really not me and her quacking disaster of_ _handwriting_   _is nearly impossible to fake anyway. Also, I heard she really was drunk that evening. So maybe we finally can see her true nature? So if in the Deep Roads she starts staring at you luridly, throw the elf and healer at her, run and hope that your sense of stone hasn't completely_ _atrophied. Well, if you want to hold true to Bianca. If not, then have_ an  _unforgettable time!_

_What can I say for you, Hawke… Go, go, girl! The best plan you've come up with so far! You rock!_

_/_

_Hawke, I wanted to talk to you, but now I'd like to exchange messages without direct contact. Just tell me it was another joke of yours, right? Please, I don't want to look for a new partner a day before the expedition's departure._

_~ Varric and his belief in human's sanity._

_**/** _

_**Oh, guys, come on! You cant really believe in Carver's nonsense. Besides, he spent his life honing his skills in forging my handwriting, and he still can't get a correct "a". Just compare and you'll see.** _

_**And Carver… That was just juvenile and petty. Grow up already, please.** _

_**/** _

**Grow up? So you're acting like a perfectly grown up adult when you mock me, recite my intimate letters and, of course, you just have to explain to everyone who Peaches is. And on top of the endless humiliation, you're not taking me with you! Because I haven't grow up yet, yeah?**

**/**

_There's a difference between laughing at actual flaws and imposing false,_ _undeserved assaults. You need to learn it if you want to be taken seriously, Junior._

_/_

_Awwww, awkward family drama! I love that stuff! Hawke,_   _why have you been so competent and told your brother he's not going beforehand? You should've left it for the last moment, with your mother crying at your sleeve about the danger, so little Carver could throw a full-blown hysteric in front of a crowd. What are the hirelings going to gossip about now?_

_Still, I'd take your brother's plan seriously if I were you._

_**/** _

_**Why does this thing have "The Journal of Erica Hawke"** _ _**label on it? It's an effing** _ _**public bulletin board** _ _**already! I hate you all. I'm dead serious.** _

_**P.S. If anyone writes anything else on this page, I swear I will let my mabari chew on their boots without taking them off!** _

_**/** _

**I'm sorry, Messere Hawke, I was asked to write something here. I don't know why. But I wanted to tell you that I'm so looking forward to working with the cousin of the Hero of Ferelden. He is a great man. If you want anything special in your rations, just let me know.**

**Respectfully yours, Bodahn Feddic.**

/

_**You roguish bastards!** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a silly habit to find out meaning of the stuff I've randomly came up with, so I googled name of my Hawke recently and decided it's a quiet ironic fit.


	6. Sunrise deep in hell

_But I'm still looking for someone_   
_Someone that's larger than life_   
_Something that's sharp_   
_Sharp as the knife_

There were dragons in the Deep Roads. Fucking _dragons._  In the Deep Roads!

Why?.. How?..

Now I'm no biologist, but even I can see that this is not a place for giant flying lizards! What are they doing here? What are they eating here when there are no reckless greedy expeditions around? Darkspawn? Deep mushrooms? Really, I'm struggling to provide for my little family in Kirkwall, and that Mama Dragon managed to bring up a damn horde of calf-sized dragonlings in the Deep Roads! I'm officially shamed.

No shit, we were caught absolutely unprepared for the dragon swarm. The first few minutes everyone was too busy trying not to die to back each other up. I knew we were screwed when Anders went down. Sure, he was giving me lessons for the last two week in his clinic and he even said I'm getting decent. But I only treated people after careful examination, without rush, under Anders' supervision and with direct contact, so in battle the tactic 'press something to the wound' still was more effective than my healing.

Varric and I were trying to get rid of the crowds of annoying dragonlings as soon as possible while Fenris held back the main scaly bitch. And when I say 'bitch', I mean it, because it fought dirty. It not only breathed fire, but also flapped its wings, throwing the elf across the room, and roaring right in his face. I don't know what exactly made a stunning effect – the thundering sound or fresh breath, and Maker's fart, I really don't want to find out. But Fenris stubbornly stood up and got back to the beast every time. Probably he imagined it was a mage, because he was doing amazingly well up until the point when the dragon caught him in her jaws and started to chew. Literally. I managed to throw Winter's Grasp on the monster before effing dragonlings swarmed me again, but the bitch didn't seem to notice. I was afraid it would swallow up Fenris in one piece, but finally its tastebuds were devastated from our elf's bitterness and the dragon spit him out. Fenris hit the ground with a short pained groan, so I assumed he was alive, but he hadn't stood up after that.

_Shit._

Varric and I simultaneously looked at the elf, then at the dragon and finally, with the same expression of hopeful expectation of 'I'll take care of it', at each other. But nobody wanted to play a hero, so when the monster roared, we ran to opposite sides. So much for team-work.

Apparently Varric looked tastier than me, because the dragon went after him. It cornered the rogue and methodically slashed him with its claws. I wiped out the last of the dragonlings with Tempest and Firestorm, but that didn't distract the dragon. If the bitch keeps it up, my buddy would get torn to pieces.

I ran up to the dragon's wide backside, dodging the swinging tail, shouted  _"_ Let's see whose fire is hotter!" and shoved a fireball right up it's ass.  _That_  made it personal. The beast roared and flapped its wings, throwing me at the wall.

It left Varric lying on the ground and started chasing me around the giant ancient hall. I ran in circles, trying not to step on my unconscious companions. Shit, shit, shit…

_Sober up, girl. Are you the daughter of a hawk or a hen?_

It's not an invincible legendary monster that has already defeated my friends and is about to bite my head off. It's just a fat fire-breathing lizard, stupid, tired and already wounded. I have health and lyrium potions and a real advantage, unlike the others. I don't need to get in close like warriors or stop and waste my time recharging a crossbow. I'm a mage, I need just to concentrate, glance over my shoulder and decide how exactly I want to hurt this mythical scaly piece of shit. It doesn't matter who's running from whom, only one thing matters – who controls the situation.

 _Time for a dragon hunt. You can handle that. You_ must  _handle that._

We made quite several circles and I saw that the monster is about to fall from merely tripping over the rock already. I could continue hit it on the run, but I wanted to finish it epically.

I stopped abruptly, spun around on my heel and drew wide Cone of Cold with my staff, freezing the dragon in the middle of rearing up.

"You want a fist fight? You've got one!"

I can lift a half-dozen heavly-armored men in the air and smash them against the ground so hard that it'll break their armor. My Fist of the Maker shattered ice crystals around the dragon, sent cracks along its tail and chopped off a few claws and one horn. The beast fell down to the ground, howling, and lashed out, trying to bite me.

"What, don't like it? Well, I have two arms!"

Stonefist rammed right into the dragon's eye, throwing it's head back. The beast growled and shook its head, clearly not able to get up _. It's almost over_. I could finish it off with just the blade of my staff, but no, I wanted it to be epic. I wanted it to be so epic that Varric – shame he can't see it for himself – wouldn't know what to exaggerate when he tells this story in taverns.

The dragon slowly lifted its head and craned its neck in last desperate attempt to get me. I grinned heatedly and held up my hand, ball lightning growing bigger and brighter around my fingers. The dragon opened wide it's jaws, but I didn't step back, preparing to shove lightning right down its throat.  _So, who's awesome and badass now? Hell yeah, that's me and…_

A lanky, more blinking than actually glowing in blue light, silhouette flashed in and slammed a greatsword through the dragon's eye.

"Whaa….?" I gasped, barely managing to keep the lightning from striking the elf instead.

_You stole my epic killing blow, you bastard!_

Fenris stood there, clutching at his sword with both hands and swaying slightly. He looked down at the head of the dead dragon, then at me and suddenly collapsed. I cursed, rolled up my eyes and threw the lightning at the wall.

Suuuure. You just have to interrupt me in the last moment or your ears would wither off out of vexation. You couldn't calmly lie on the ground and wait, you had to rush in, disturb your wounds and faint, but not let me have my way and my crowning moment of awesome. You've already killed one dragon at the Bone Pit, why couldn't you leave this one to me, huh?

Ugh.  _That_  elf!

* * *

Fenris sat on the ground not far from where he fell before, trying to look nonchalantly and stately, as if he wasn't almost munched up by a dragon.

"You didn't say you specialized as Dragonslayer. The second one in two weeks! I'm beginning to feel like a princess. So thank you for the glorious rescue and…"

I was going to finish it with something really acidic, but he looked up at me, his dark, barely noticeable in all the dirt, eyebrows going up, and suddenly smiled. It was very tentative, clearly surprised, reservedly flattered smile. Very brief, but sincere. Even from under the layer of dust and blood so thick that it hid his markings, even with a split lip and bloodshot eye, there was that light. The glimpse of the sun that I saw few days ago when we talked in his mansion, that I blamed on his low alcohol tolerance, my delusion, and strange optical effects from the atmosphere. But it was there again and…

 _He took it all in good faith,_ I realized.

If Fenris hadn't read sarcasm in my gratitude, then he really thought he was saving me. He probably woke up for a moment, saw the dragon hovering above me and got himself up to help me, not even noticing that I was preparing for an epic smackdown and the beast was pretty much dead anyway.

 _Have you ever said thank you to him?,_ My inner voice, the one responsible for maintaining 'the honor of nobility' thingy, asked in a tone of politely restrained, but pointedly not hidden disgust that reminded me strongly of the Seneschal Bran.

_No, but I didn't think he would want it from a filthy mage and…_

Even if he's arguing with you, he still fights with full effort regardless of his approval of your decisions. He followed you to the damn Deep Roads and you know that ridiculous debt of his is not the reason. You didn't kill his former master, so formally the job wasn't completed and he has no debt to repay. He got chewed up by a dragon for you without any complaints. And now you're about to mock him for trying to rescue you despite severe wounds. Way to be a petty bitch! You can also kick homeless starving puppies out in the rain while you're at it. Even if you don't like him, he still deserves your gratitude.

I swallowed and tried to continue "...and thank you for everything. Like, fighting at my side half-dead. You've been a great help."

Fenris blinked at me, then quickly turned his head away, trying as usual to cover his eyes under his hair, which now was more like blooded spikes, and hiding a nervous chuckle in a nonchalant cough. That was apparently a bad idea, because he doubled in half and had to spit some blood.

"You're welcome," his voice was even rougher than usually and blood was still bubbling in his throat.

I frowned. "You need to see Anders. I mean, Anders needs to see you. Your wound, precisely."

 _Stop rambling, he'll think you're possessed by Merrill_.

"Health potions and an injury kit will do fine, as usual."

"This is the Deep Roads! We don't have time for slow recovery. You could get an infection or worse, the taint."

He was still stubbornly glaring at the ground.

"Oh, come on, it's just a little healing! It's not the time to suddenly get capricious." I sighed, rolling up my eyes. "That's an order. You can spit on my boots and have no more business with me when we're back in Kirkwall, but right now it's my responsibility to get you back in the same state you left."

He stared at the ground for a while, obviously struggling inwardly, but then looked up at me and suddenly proposed

"You do it."

"What?" I almost choked with surprised laugh, but he answered with a firm, determined voice.

"Why not? You're a mage too."

"I'm no healer! I'm a rookie, greener than Sylvan's shit, in healing. If you want, we can blindfold Anders and tell him he's treating me, so your pride would be spared. Even like  _that_  he'd do better than me!"

Fenris tried to sigh, coughed blood again instead, and then evidently forced himself to explain

"My markings give me protection from magical damage. As much as I understand the principle, they detect the intentions of a mage and block spells from the hostile ones."

I scratched my chin and nodded. That certainly made sense, because in the other case, friendly and useful magic would be blocked off too.

"But as a side effect, I... feel those intentions and attitudes myself. It's something like insults, but expressed in direct emotions instead of words."

_Ouch. That's bad. That's really bad._

I glanced back at Anders. He was dealing with his own wounds and grumbling at Varric, who was waiting his turn.

"Maniac", "fanatic", "monster" were usual terms that Anders used in speaking about the elf. I could see why Fenris prefers the risk of taint to that amount of open hatred and contempt. No doubt, he brought it on himself, but still, after life as a slave, he didn't deserve suffering through all that humiliation. Especially when our healer is in a terrible mood because of the Deep Roads and a herd of dragonlings that flattened him.

"I can't." I mumbled weakly "I've never treated anyone chewed up by a dragon."

"It's just simple stab wound on my back. I believe there was fair amount of backstabbing in the Darktown clinic where you were learning."

I glanced at him darkly and muttered "I need to see the wound."

He looked away again, his jaw visibly tensing, and after a few moments his voice was muffled.

"There is a clasp at the back of my collar."

I reluctantly came up and sat on the ground behind him, craning my neck to examine it. Yep, there was a clasp and the same one at the hem of his tunic. I always wondered why Fenris's vests had a gap that showed the strip of his skin. Turned out, with those clasps opened, it was possible to bare his back without removing his armor and shoulder-pads. I still can't see the necessity for such a peculiar design, but now is not the time to snark about armor.

Very carefully, I lifted bloody cloth from the wound and almost flinched at the sight. The injury looked awfully deep, with jagged, swollen edges because the dragon decided to swing Fenris about like a chew toy. The wound was still oozing blood.

Even if I manage to patch this up somehow, there is gonna be hell of a scar... Oh man.

"I'll have to touch you."

"I will endeavor to restrain myself from biting your hand."

"Ugh, you!.. I know you hate it, so I thought I should warn you. Tell me if it hurts."

"Just do what you can."

So he's certain it will hurt. Oh maaaan. I'm basically about torturing him without even a certainty that it'll help. What did I do to bring this on me? I was never supposed to be a healer! I was trained as battle mage, it's Bethany who was sweet and kind and wanted to help people...

Wait... Sweet and kind... If the elf's markings are minimizing effects of hostile magic, maybe they will increase spells from friendly, benevolent mage?

I don't think asking him about it would help.  _Hey, Fenris, have you ever met a mage who actually liked you?_ He'll just bite my head off. Still, it's worth a try. I couldn't see what could possibly cause him harm by wishing him well. Worst case scenario, I'll just have to heal the wound with only my own shitty ability. The real problem is we aren't exactly best friends. Well, maybe I don't want to breathe flames every time he speaks anymore, but he's still not easy to be around. I looked at him thoughtfully.

_Do I really dislike him so very much?_

Fenris was so tense that I almost expected lightning to spark between his shoulder-blades. He sat on the rocks, embracing his bony knees and leaning forward like a hedgehog who is about to roll himself up into a ball. Well, his armor is spiky enough. And hedgehogs are stubborn, grumpy, self-willed, insolent and defensive fellows too.

This one is also sarcastic, smart and brave.

_Do I really not like him?_

But instead of needles, his back was covered in scars. Of course, the markings were catching the eye first, but actually there was hardly a single area of untouched skin. But something was off about many of those scars. They looked like accurate cuts, too precise for battle wounds and laid in series of unhurried, confident strikes. As if Fenris made no resistance or attempt to dodge, which is really weird since his fighting style is all about speed...

Suddenly it clicked and I had to bite my lip to restrain the gasp.

 _Whip_ , I realized and took a deep breath, feeling a little nausea.  _That was a fucking whip._

The design of the elf's tunic with an easy access to his back made repulsively rational sense now. It wasn't effective to punish him with magic, since his markings would reduce power, so that sick Tevinter bastard lashed him. Damn, that's so wrong, it shouldn't...

_If the Maker exists, why don't all of those rotten slavers turn into the dunghills that they really are on the spot?_

I remembered the timorous light in Fenris's rare smiles, concentrated and lightly touched his back with only my fingertips.

The elf winced at the touch and jerked forward for a moment, but I immediately felt the response of his markings. It was way better than I expected, almost as if I used an actual enchanted artifact. Not only did the brands increase the raw power of the spell, but they also helped to direct it to the precise areas that needed healing. That was my problem - I couldn't properly aim my healing magic inside the body. I could cure a mouthful of bad teeth and a constellation of pimples and waste all energy before getting to the actual injury. But as I sent healing waves along the markings, they allowed me to accurately detect all minor wounds, scratches and bruises and direct my magic with the precision of a never-missing mage's staff. Brilliant!

I got so carried away with exciting possibilities flooding my brain that I almost overlooked the fact that Fenris wasn't just not moving, but seemingly also not breathing.

"Hey, are you alright?"

"I'm fine." His voice was hoarse, but blood wasn't rumbling in his throat anymore.

"Just wanted to let you know, you can still breathe."

He just jerked his head in an abrupt nod _. Oh man, if he didn't even snark something back, he must really be in pain._

"Does it really hurt that much?" I asked warily.

"No. It's fine. You can continue."

A-ha, that's reassuring. But maybe I can do something about it. Anders taught me principles of pain-killing, though I didn't think I would be able to use them anytime soon. But with those lyrium brands...

"Fenris? Your back will feel kinda numb for awhile. It should minimize pain while I deal with the dragon's bite."

"It's unnecessary."

"Yeah, yeah, you're a stoic "Not-made-of-glass" martyr, you've been through a lot more worse things, yadda yadda, I know. I just happen to not like torturing people, so excuse me."

He didn't even nod this time. Oh well.

I sighed and focused on his markings, removing feeling from the area around the wound. With anyone else, I'd just poke his back to see if it worked, but not with Fenris. He could endure any torture, but could barely stand a simple touch.

If I ever have to blackmail that elf, I'll promise to paralyze and hug him. Maybe even kiss him, if it's really serious.

"Hey, did it work? Can you still feel it?"

There was vague brief nod, as if someone pulled the string. Jeez, and how should I understand it? Yes, it did work or yes, he can still feel it? Ugh, that elf!

I sighed again and concentrated on the wound, sending all the kind words that were never spoken because they didn't seem appropriate, all the smiles that were never exchanged, all gratitude that wasn't expected to be welcomed.

There wasn't even a scar after a minute. Wow, I didn't expect it to be that effective! Who's awesome again! But, well, now I can see why that magister wants those lyrium markings back so badly. They adjusted to his needs perfectly and could help to create an ultimate living weapon, the potential was so great...

 _So, how about we find out?_  proposed the cold-blooded, unscrupulous part of my mind that never let me get robed or cheated in business.

No, I don't have a right. He suffered through too many experiments already.

_The markings are already there. He went through all that pain to get them, so why not use them fully if the price is already paid?_

Not by me. I can't just use them and...

_For his own sake. It will benefit him greatly._

No. It's too complicated, almost an intimate matter. I couldn't just meddle without permission. It must be his choice and I'm fairly certain that if he even suspects that I can affect his brands in any way, he'll rip out my heart. So no, this is already too much.

"I believe we're done." I said with hidden smugness and reached to close his clasps, but Fenris' hand sprang up immediately. Sure, after I heal all his life threatening, agony causing wounds, he's independent and prickly again. Why let the despicable mage touch you when you're not literally falling to pieces? Oh well.

We stood up and Fenris busied himself, setting his vest right and attaching his scabbard, and stubbornly refused to meet my eyes. It stung my pride, but as a healer I had to ask him even if he's not thankful and wants to bury this memory in the darkest corner of the mind

"Are you alright? Is there's something I missed?"

He finally looked up at me with a hesitant, almost sheepish, grateful smile. Now, when the eerie whiteness of his hair was hidden under layer of dust, his bizarre armor was battered and lost pretentiousness, his own natural features came to the fore. I always hated striving for feigned exotic beauty, but under everything that magister forced on him, Fenris wasn't a forgery. You can't fake that light, which made his usually cold mossy eyes apple-green and radiant, and when he smiled like that I wanted to know him better, the true him, not the fancy war-toy that Tevinter pig tried to shape.

"Thank you. I'm fine" he said slowly, his grave voice taking a barely noticeable change to unusual warm velvet tone.

I smiled back, when Anders came up and examined us skeptically.

"What, did you heal him, Hawke? Good, you need someone to experiment on."

"Anders!" I hissed, but the elf already crouched up as usually and walked away.

 _Jeez._   _He'll never ask me to help him again!_

* * *

He came up to me after a couple of minor skirmishes, looking grim and determined, but remaining silent, as if he was being forced to make a deal with demon, but didn't know how to start.

"What?" I asked warily.

"I suppose we must use health potions sparingly down here." He said darkly, avoiding my eyes.

"Well, yeah, I guess. Unless we happen to stumble across a Darkspawn's alchemy shop."

He just sighed and shifted from one leg to other. It was getting insufferable.

"Oh, come on, Fenris, spit it out already! You look like you want me to deal with some nasty rash."

He finally met my gaze with a question in his bright, clear eyes. I didn't think I would ever find an actual resemblance between Fenris and Merrill, but apparently wonders never cease.

"You know, the type Isabela scratches constantly."

He huffed indignantly "I have a wound on my side."

"You couldn't get to this part without a long expressive prelude? Let me see."

He lifted the hem of his vest over his ribs.

"Maker's snot! What did you do, try to snuff yourself with rocks?"

"I didn't ask the ogre of his intentions when he smashed me against the wall, but I believe your idea is close enough."

I chuckled and tried to concentrate on the wound, but...

"Stop staring."

"What?"

"I said, look away."

He narrowed his eyes "Why?"

_Because it's really hard to convince myself that we're great pals when you look like you wait for the first opportunity to cut my head off._

"I need to do blood magic and the demon won't come if you're watching."

He kept glaring silently. I sighed.

"It's... distracting."

"I recall you said I can't intimidate you."

"I didn't say you're scary. But your stare can give a headache to a corpse. It's distracting."

He managed to frown and crook his eyebrow skeptically at the same time.

_Oh my, this is embarrassing._

"Listen, do you want this wound to be healed? Then look away!"

He examined me for another second, but then turned his head away, briefly muttering something in Tevene.

"It's not very grateful to call someone trying to help you nasty names." I muttered while directing healing energy at his injury. First, carefully remove all rock shards and cleanse the wound to prevent possible infections...

"It wasn't an insult."

"A-ha, sure." I was pretty certain it wasn't, but I wanted to take a little revenge for my embarrassment.

"I said 'Women'.

"Maybe you've mentioned a certain profession?"

"It was not an insult. You can verify it if you want."

"Of course, because the first thing I packed was an advanced Tevinter dictionary."

Fenris turned to glare at me incredulously, but I shouted before he could say anything.

"You're staring again!"

He groaned and threw his head back, gazing at the ceiling.

"And don't ask the Maker to strike me on the spot, he's had too many of those requests already."

"I don't doubt it."

"Hey! Words can hurt too!" The wound was almost healed, but I still had a little time to poke Fenris, so I bullshitted cheerfully "I have feelings, you know. Maybe I'm a filthy mage to you, but under our magical filth we're just the same beings as everyone else. I'll go and cry myself to sleep because of your rudeness and..."

"If I gave any chance to consider my words as offense, I apologize for nothing can be farther from my intentions."

I looked up at him, pouting my lips with disappointment

"You said that just to shut me up, yeah?"

He continued staring up, but I could see a small smirk dancing on his lips.

Well, maybe I sort of kinda probably liked that snarky beanpole. A little.

* * *

"The blade of your staff is blunt."

Hawke turned to him with a sour grimace and quirked an eyebrow "And the blade of your sword is bigger than you. What, are we having contest of useless obvious comments?"

"Mine isn't useless."

"Huh? Then mine wasn't useless either. With that knowledge you can use your sword as concealment from view. Or prop the ceiling. Or sail across..."

"Your life and therefore well-being of the group could be depending on the sharpness of your blade, especially in places like this."

She huffed with irritation "And what would you have me do? Blades of mages' staffs are sharpened in special way and I don't know how to do it. I always left it to the professionals and, well, I'm sorry I didn't predict Bartrand's betrayal that would divide me from the expedition's armory."

After a minute of silence he said, not looking at her "Give it to me at the next halt."

She almost tripped over, her eyebrows jumping up and bright amber eyes rounding with astonishment "Emmm... Sorry, what?"

"I need a toothpick."

"And legends say elves have perfect teeth." she said warily, trying to meet his eyes, but he pointedly stared forward

"The same legends that demand me to frolic?"

She chuckled briefly, but continued with the same cautious tone "I mean, thank you, but you don't have to do it."

"Of course I don't. Maybe I'm just tired of doing all the work, while you merely slap darkspawn when you should kill them."

"My staff's blade is the last thing I rely on in battle."

"You have a talent for luring several enemies into a corner and trapping yourself."

She made a face at him and he finally let himself return her gaze

"Fine, whatever you want. Make me look helpless and incompetent."

He nodded, swallowing down a curse. Even when he wanted to do something for her, it always got twisted in the most stupid ways and turned into another pride-butting match. Usually she was the first to step down and admit defeat, which made him look stubborn and petty.

He'd tasted many different shades of magic: from skin-burning hate and bloodlust to ice-cold disgust and contempt. He knew healing magic as well - of course, Danarius would never condescend to it himself, but he had servants trained only as healers. Their spells felt like spit on the face or slops, poured over the head. When he asked Hawke to heal him, he expected side effect to be hot and maybe etching.

Again this woman proved to be absolutely unpredictable.

It was midday sunshine, very light and lenient feeling, almost imperceptible. If they'd been on the surface, he may not notice it at all. But there, in the Deep Roads, with only smoky torches and an eerie glow of lyrium branches to illuminate their path, the difference was striking. It wasn't the high southern sun of Kirkwall though. It was fierce heat of the northern sun at noon, the sun of Tevinter and Seheron. He had almost forgotten this sensation, but he could not mistake it.

When he felt it for the first time - Hawke was more worried about dealing with his wound than about fighting a dragon - he was afraid to breathe would scare it away. He waited for it to become burning and acid - what you usually get from Hawke - but it never came. Only weightless warmth spreading over his skin, seemingly ignoring all dirt and dust, and it left him refreshed instead of humiliated as magic always did. Before, touches were divided only by one characteristic - did they hurt or not, this time it was something that not only didn't hurt, but felt good. Something he wanted to last, though he knew it was a foolish, dangerous weakness. But it felt like acceptance, maybe even… sympathy.

He didn't know how to express it to her, so he just said "Thank you. I'm fine" to her questioning eyes. Fried eggs. Bright amber. Or late sunrise.

When they settled in an improvised camp, she glanced at him a few times, but with her peculiar sense of tact didn't dare to remind him of his promise. Fenris came up to her and held out his hand without a word. Hawke blinked at him almost shyly, gave him her staff and said with warm, grateful smile,

"Please try not to drool over it. It will be slippery to hold in battle."

_Typical. Entirely typical. It's always like this between us._

"I'll do my best," he answered solemnly and her eyes beamed up even more brightly.

"Thank you," she said with a royally graceful nod and he barely kept himself from bowing. It was not the time or place for those silly games. And, even more obviously, he wasn't made for light-hearted mischief.

He sat down on the rocks and began to work. If nothing else, it helped him to not feel useless and idle, because as much as he hated to admit it, it was the mages who made the primary contribution in the group's decent subsistence after Bartrand's betrayal.

Of course there was no kindling to feed the fire in the damp tunnels. But Hawke just snapped her fingers and clear strong flames rose up from the bare stones, without smoke and not withering under the foul drafts of the Roads. Meanwhile, the mage took from Varric the ancient helm that they found in one of the tombs, sat down and stared at it severely and even possibly demandingly. The elf and the dwarf exchanged questioning glances, while Anders paid this strange process no attention and without stopping to grumble about the hated Deep Roads, started to scrub the Deep Mushrooms which they collected on their way. After few minutes of staring, when Fenris started to seriously worry for Hawke's sanity, the helm was suddenly filled with clear water.

"Wow," Varric muttered, "I didn't know you could do that."

"Huh?" Hawke glanced up for a second, rolling up her sleeves, then took a kerchief from her bag and started to scour helm. "Oh, please tell me that my storyteller notices those large piles of ice that I create in the battle for his amusement. I even do my best to shape them funny for the sake of your stories!"

"Well, of course I notice. That possibility just never came to my mind."

"Umgh, yeah, it's because for some reason Cone of Cold seems to work more effectively in battle than Fountain of Joy."

She poured dirty water out of the helm and stared at it for another minute. She tasted the new portion of water and beamed at her companions proudly.

"Every mage can create pot of water, that's no wonder. But only a master of elemental magic can make that water spicy!"

"Oh, thank the Maker you've managed," Anders sighed with relief "I hate Deep Mushroom soup as it is, but if it's too bland..."

"Told you I could do it. After all, magic is only the projection of our imagination on the real world."

"Where have you been all these years? You're an invaluable travel companion."

Hawke gave the healer a brief, sly smile and turned to the others

"So, as it seems you've failed to understand the delights of domestic magic, I'll put it simply. Bring me your waterskins and I'll fill them. And, jeez, guys, please tell me you haven't saved the water all day and gone thirsty?"

For some time after that, Anders was making the soup since he was only one who was in the Deep Roads before and therefore had at least a distant idea how to cook deep mushrooms properly; Fenris busied himself with Hawke's staff and Hawke herself was clearly determined to comfort Varric, forcibly if she had to. After his brother's betrayal, the dwarf behaved as if nothing had happened - or at least that it stirred in him nothing but anger. Varric cursed and scolded Bartrand as just another business partner who set him up, but between exaggerative colorful bursts of indignation he was unusually quiet.  _Who is brooding now?_  the elf could've ask the rogue, but it would be too low a blow.

Hawke took a seat next to Varric, so close that their shoulders touched. The dwarf glanced at her and returned to polishing his crossbow.

"So." Hawke nudged him at the side "You had your 'think about it alone' time, now we should discuss it."

"Really? Alone? I remember you guys were hanging around constantly and you apparently forgot to notice the Darkspawn." Varric gave the mage a wide light-hearted grin, but Fenris knew how good he was at bluffing. "Besides, there is nothing to talk about. I'm a big boy, Hawke, I'm fine already."

"Next time I hear "I'm fine" from anyone here, I'll kick him in the teeth."

"Seriously, you're fussing over nothing. We're from dwarven nobility, remember? Things like this are absolutely common among them and Bartrand always strived to be closer to Orzammar. Actually, he pulled a cheap trap in comparison to noble standards. For example, that whole intrigue with killing the heir and the exile of his innocent daughter of the last Orzammar's king..."

Hawke listened patiently to all his stories about betrayals and backstabbing. The dwarf told them in rich sordid details, as if convincing himself that it could've been much worse. When Varric finally exhausted himself, the mage rubbed her cheek against his shoulder.

"You're holding up amazingly."

"Oh, are we back at it again? Told you, I'm... We never were close, you know it for yourself."

"And what? Carver and I can't stand each other for the most of the time, but if he'd left me, I know I'd be ruined. That's why I admire your self-control."

"Come on, don't..."

"You shouldn't stay angry at Bartrand, he's clearly just a blind fool. Happens even in the best bloodlines. He's not worthy of you eating yourself up over him. Trading you for just some stupid priceless idol, jeez! You're worth more than thousand lyrium statues of your full size."

"Hawke, stop it. I know, it's hard to resist my charm, but try to control yourself. People will talk."

"Really, he doesn't deserve you. I know I'd be happy to have an older brother like you."

"Oh? Even older?"

"Sure. You're so much more experienced and wiser than me."

"You little wheedle." the dwarf grumped fondly "I'm honored, but I don't think Junior will survive another elder sibling."

"At least he won't accuse your shadow of being gigantic."

Varric smirked "Some could suspect we don't have blood relation. But we could convince them, because your eyes are the same color as my neck-chain."

Hawke nodded and said with mischievous side-glance from under half-lowered eyelashes

"We're not done."

"What? What do you pla?.."She leaned forward and hugged him passionately. Varric almost started out of surprise and tried to sound angry, but even with his bluffing skills couldn't hide a smile "Hawke! Get off of me, woman. I'm too manly for your girly cuddles."

"Oh, as you say, great Paragon of Manliness." The mage gave his shoulders one last squeeze and finally straightened up. The dwarf readjusted the lapels of his coat and grumbled, still slightly embarrassed.

"You just wanted to fondle Bianca."

"Can't blame me for trying," Hawke smiled softly, a sudden contrast to her usual lop-sided grins and teasing smirks.

Fenris didn't know that she was capable of not only devastating firestorms, but also of soothing warmth. And now it became also clear why Hawke was the leader of the group, though some of her companions were more experienced and influential. When Bartrand sealed the door, Hawke didn't complain or hesitate even for a minute. She led them with such confidence, as if she knew for sure that they would find another exit in the web of ancient tunnels. When they faced a dead end, her mood didn't waver in the slightest, she would just shrug with a smile, count the loot that they found and try again. She had the rare unflinching spirit of a natural leader, the kind that let her inspire people in the grimmest situations without visible effort. Not that Fenris was going to let himself panic, but somewhat surprisingly he found that there never were any hints of despair or fear in their company. Hawke made the whole perspective of vanishing in the Deep Roads fade and turn into another merely annoying trouble they would undoubtedly overcome. Maybe it worked because she didn't need to pretend. In truth, she was the only one who, realizing all the risks, actually enjoyed the travel.

Varric and Anders were walking ahead, the dwarf to find possible traps and hidden passage ways and the former Warden to sense Darkspawn. Fenris was bringing up the rear and secretly watching Hawke. And Hawke was absolutely taken with this place. Everything new was interesting to her, she tried to keep her excitement to herself, but her shining eyes gave her away. She moved almost in a dance, in light, springy steps and trailed swirly patterns as she wondered from ancient runes at one wall to a half-ruined statue at another. She would lift up her hands to her mouth impulsively at the sight of something especially interesting, spin with her head thrown back to examine ceilings, bend and crane her neck to glance into darkened niches. Disheveled, dusty, but truly beautiful amidst the darkness, and even ominous ruby light of red lyrium branches turned into joyful sparks in her eyes. The elf couldn't help but enjoy the view.  _Bird, bright, lively, free. Firebird._

Of course, someone as expressive and talkative as Hawke couldn't not share her impressions with the others. And since Varric still wasn't in the mood for admiring landscapes after his brother's betrayal, Anders could only complain and curse the Deep Roads and Fenris surely wasn't thrilled about them, but he hadn't got any more unsociable than before, he was the only choice. Hawke would glance at him sideways, chewing her lip, sigh a few times, but finally resign herself and start talking. Slowly they went from a brief comments to long idle chatting about almost everything.

"I parted with Carver on bad terms. He hates my guts because I left him home."

"Very foolish. He should be grateful for escaping all this trouble."

"I told him so! But no, he's angry anyway. Oh well, I'll bribe him when we return. I'll buy him a mabari. If a mabari pup can't melt someone's heart, nothing can. And I know he always was secretly jealous that Rex chose me."

"A fascinating breed. Such intelligence and strength. Do you ever wonder what he thinks about?"

Hawke shrugged "He still thinks about dog things. Just with more clarity."

"Are you aware that his breed originated in Tevinter? The magisters bred them. It's said the mabari defected during the Imperium's invasion of Ferelden. Merely a tale, but I rather like the idea they found the barbarians more... palatable than the mages."

Rex barked with happy agreement.

"Exactly so. Let's hope your hound doesn't take after his ancestors too strongly, hmm?"

"Bhah! You can try to entice him away, I dare you. But a two-handed warrior with one hand bitten off is a miserable sight. Rex would never leave me."

Fenris raised eyebrow derisively "You're so confident that there is no one more strong, noble and worthy of loyalty than you?"

"Noble? Strong? Jeez, no! What does that have to do with loyalty? Nope, he won't leave me because no one can scratch under his ears better than me. Right, boy?" She chuckled and patted her dog, who barked with enthusiasm. Hawke grinned at the elf.

"See? Who needs blood magic if they can scratch ears?"

He glanced at her and swallowed his bitter remark with a smirk; but apparently she realized that she hit a sore spot and changed subject.

"Speaking of leaving, have you decided if will you stay in Kirkwall or not?"

"I will, most likely."

"And then... mmm... would you mind taking part in occasional mercenary contracts?"

The elf regarded her with long studying look.

"Can't see why not."

"That's good. We seem to work... fine together, yeah?"

He shrugged and looked away, not trusting himself to answer. It wasn't even a compliment, but he felt strangely flattered and … reassured? That there's a place where he's welcomed, that there's someone who'll fight for him… And not just someone, but proud, unbending, fearless, stubborn Hawke. He finally managed to give her a vague crooked smirk and her eyes gleamed warmly in the gloom of the tunnel when she smiled back.

Once, shortly after the ritual, when Fenris hadn't yet learned how a slave should behave, there was big plate of tangerines at Danarius's table. They weren't sliced like oranges and laid there like pile of little suns. Danarius noticed his interest and asked softly - he always talked very sleekly - "You want them?" When the elf nodded, the mage shook his head with faked regret.

"But you're my little wolf. Wolves don't eat fruit."

"Wolves eat meat." Hadriana tried to keep up the metaphoric game and the magister encouraged her with an approving nod. This day Fenris's meal consisted of a bit of raw meat. When he couldn't eat it, Hadriana laughed "Oh, I understand what you're waiting for. You want it to rot, because wolves love carrion." Next morning Danarius said "Wolves can't eat fruit, but perhaps we can do something about it." and threw him a tangerine's peel. Devoid of memory and any knowledge, he didn't realize the mockery and gratefully took it as generous gift, a token of goodwill and kindness. Undoubtedly it amused the mages to no end.

_You're the same fool as before. You're ready to mistake a peel for treasure again. All that you take for good treatment and warmth are just business and unintentional effect of her magic, merely illusion. You should leave Kirkwall and not lie to yourself. No one will miss you there._

When they finally reached the surface, it was a warm, but overcast day. Varric grinned widely, Anders laughed and looked as if he was about to start singing. Fenris expected Hawke to perform something like a noisy happy dance, but she was strangely quiet. She lifted her chin, closed her eyes and sudden thunder swept across the sky. Dark clouds burst in heavy downpour over them.

"Hawke!" Varric cried out, covering his head with his coat "Is this your work? Are you mad?"

She opened her eyes and shrugged with a lop-sided grin "Come on, I've wanted to do it for days! Haven't you feltl dusty and stifled?"

"We could wait for a bath, or go to a nearby beach, if you feel so urgently about it." Anders tried to not show displeasure, but he looked much like one of his favorite cats would in the same situation.

"It's not the same, how can you not see the difference? Alright..." Hawke sighed "It's just a small area under the rain, go on ahead. I'll catch up in few minutes."

The dwarf and healer walked away as fast as they could without running and Hawke turned to Fenris.

"Why don't you go?"

He took a deep breath of fresh air charged with the special elusive smell of lightning that makes a head clear better than any potion. Big warm drops ran down his face and tried to sneak under his collar. There really was nothing like this feeling of free, wild purity under the raining skies.

"I think I like it," he told the mage with a brief shrug. She examined him with her head titled to the side; rain dampened her tousled hair and trailed patterns on her face. Then she suddenly flashed a wide radiant smile, mischievous as if they shared a secret, and even under the downpour he could feel sunshine on his skin. There was no magic this time, he knew, and she smiled only for him. They stood together under the rain; wet, dirty and grinning like idiots and for the first time he realized that he wanted to kiss her.

_I saw the sunrise deep in hell_   
_And it shines and it shines_   
_First signals of love_   
_I say well, i say well_   
_I saw the sunrise deep in hell_


	7. Spitfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I saw new battle acrobatics of mages, their staffs and perk "Pyromancer", I knew my mage just have to be fire-dancer. I love dancing with fire myself, though I dance with poi, not staff. I was going to mention it briefly, but then got the idea for separate chapter.

 

**they'd call me spitfire**

Bethany was her mother's daughter, Erica – a daddy's girl and Carver was no one's son. He couldn't say that he wasn't loved, but he never was the pride of the family.

One tough year, their parents didn't have enough money and Erica refused her Satinalia gifts so twins could get the better ones. Carver clenched his awesomely engraved toy sword and desperately envied his older sister, because his father looked at her with such radiant pride, the kind Carver never received himself.

Erica this, Erica that. Erica can do anything she wants. Mother taught her daughters dances as well as noblewoman's manners, but it wasn't enough for his arrogant sister. She didn't only dance, she danced with fire. She burned down three sheds until she learned how to adjust the flames properly and father let her! 'The girl has a talent with the element', he said, 'it'll help her to better master it'. He just built a new shed every time; the neighbors were getting suspicious, but no, anything for his precious Erica, his little firebird. She claimed only because of that practice she could cast dangerous spells indoors and not destroy furniture, but he knew it was just an excuse for her own selfish whims. When father died, Carver made her promise - no more dancing with fire. It was not only perilous, but also could be noticed by Templars. It was the first of their many spats, but this time she gave in.

Bethany probably would have submitted to the Circle without the influence of her older sister, but Erica - never. When Carver even briefly mentioned that option, she almost breathed fire at him. Well, more accurately, she spilled a sea of venom. Still, it was one of the rare cases when she at least took him more or less seriously. Usually, she would just huff at him and let whatever he was saying float in one ear and out the other.

This expedition in the Deep Roads was the last straw. For the last month all her news sounded like "Nothing new, fought a dozen undead and a few bandits, but  _that_  elf is getting on my nerves! Ugh!" But even with all her complaints she still took the elf with her and left her own brother home. And then, apparently because she would better suffer and spit at every step than work with her useless little brother, she brought Fenris with her to the Deep Roads.

Well, if she doesn't need her little brother, then he can find his own way in life.

* * *

"Hey, Varric. You're still up! Want to make good on that promise to throw a celebration party?"

"Sure, Hawke. What about him? You want to invite... a friend?" the dwarf asked warily, nodding to tall dark-skinned Rivaini at my side.

"Sort of. Rashcar is a drummer, he'll help me to make a little show."

"Hmmm?"

"I want you to clear out your room - blow out all the candles and torches, and remove the table - I'll need a little free place to dance."

"Dance? Well, that's sounds great, but I'm afraid we will miss a few details of this splendid show. You know, without any light."

"You won't. Because it's a dance with fire."

"What? Indoors? Hawke, Templars will notice if you burn down the tavern. Not to mention the impact on little old me, who happens to live here.

"Come on, have a little faith, Varric. You know I can throw damn fireballs indoors. Trust me. It's gonna be epic."

He sized me up, then nodded slowly.

"Oh, and by the way, Varric. Carver left to become a Templar. At least he didn't seal the door."

* * *

It was not bad, not bad at all. Isabela had seen dances with fire before, not performed by a mage, but undoubtedly with the same purpose. To make an impression. To spark lust and longing. The dancers she knew wore little clothes and were oiled for further seductive effect; Hawke wore a long, high-necked black tunic, so her body almost dissolved in the darkness of the room. Almost, but not absolutely - sudden sparks outlined her silhouette occasionally, adding intrigue.

Traditionally, flames were strongest at the start, dying out over time, but Hawke controlled them at will. Fire would kindle at one or both ends of the staff, run from one side to another, cover one of the halves or the whole length. Almost a little too complex for a simple dance.

She started like all fire dancers, slowly, with smooth motions and broad, almost lazy swaying of the flaming staff. But soon enough her tempo increased. It was hard to tell, if Hawke followed the racing beat or the music caught up with her, but she moved perfectly in flow of the deep, bold sounds. The drummer, the lean, strong man clearly of Rivain origin, with his long fingers and many-coloured beads in a black shock of hair, was apparently one of Hawke's paramours. The girl has taste, you had to give her that. And drummers were the pirate's favorite musicians. They have a rhythm, and it was one of the most important things in sex.

The powerful, raw beat filled the room and in the center of it was Hawke. Now it was clear from where her specific battle movements had arisen. Not quite aggressive strikes, but also not just alluring swaying. Bold, sometimes abrupt and risky motions, too dangerous, too fierce. But it wasn't also a simple demonstration of skill and magic, there was something more, hid, woven between her and the music...

Maybe it was something more than just a brothel dance after all.

* * *

At first, Aveline was worried about such a risky affair. Fire indoors, clearly illegal, and especially after everything that Hawke did to throw the Templars off of her scent. But then the mage started dancing and the guard forgot all her warnings.

It was pure wonder, not usual, everyday magic with spells and dirty details like blood and demons. No, it was true magic, like in fairytales that her father read for her long ago, with unearthly beautiful miracle and magical creatures that didn't need to be slayed. Flickering fireflies tossed around feverishly and then turned into radiant comets with wide colorful tails that drew wonderful patterns, glowing in the darkness. Then Hawke's staff flared up entirely and she swirled it like a large flaming wheel, filling the room in a red blinking light. She would turn her staff with fire covering only one half in front of her and then spin it behind her back with flames at the other half, and it looked like flapping wings of a great firebird.

For a little, precious while there would be no laws but the ones from storybooks.

* * *

_How could she not understand?_

It wasn't just a dance with fire, it was a dance with fire and darkness. It was a risky game and it's beauty couldn't exist without proper contrast.

She dances like this, a creature of blood between untamed fire and waiting dark, balancing and risking her life at every second and she still couldn't understand blood magic, though it was just the same. Darkness plays an equal, inalienable part. Hawke rounds, bends so low that her shoulder-blades almost touch the floor, twirling the blazing staff over her, and then in one smooth, passionate movement, she jumps up in an unbelievable somersault, dodging fire in the last second. And in every one of her moves, every one of her pass and steps, darkness catches up to her, it leads and follows her like a partner. Part of a lover, part of an enemy.

_How could she not understand?_

* * *

At first Justice didn't approve. This dance was childish, a risky, pointless game, a waste of time, a useless provocation of desire that distracts from the true goal. But at some point she stopped being a woman made of flesh and became a symbol. Justice knew the importance of symbols. The Fade was based on them.

Dressed in black, she hid in darkness, but created light. What a perfect metaphor for an apostate. Her dance was an embodiment of a mage's freedom and pride - forced to balance her own power, dangerous to herself, in constant need of moving, dodging, sliding away.

She outlined her own cage with fire and escaped it every next second. She created a blazing, deadly, constantly changing labyrinth of flames and survived within, but playing her own game. Fire dictated her path, it forced her to move in a definite way to not get burned, but with cat-like grace she danced as she pleased, not submitting, finding crazy, risky gaps in the glowing pattern.

She could be a leader. She had spirit, a heart of fire that could inspire people. But to lead them she would need to rip this flaming heart and carry it in her hand. She could be a leader, but would she?

_He would make her see. He had to make her see and help._

* * *

He waited for a great story to tell, for new juicy details of Hawke's image. But it wasn't just a dance. It was her soul, bared, sincere, beautiful, vulnerable for those who can see under the first impression of joy and passion. When he saw her dance, he knew he wouldn't be able to tell this story.

But since he prided himself on being a spy master, he scanned the reactions of the others. Aveline looked like a little girl, utterly enchanted and with her guard down. That was good, she needed to forget about duty sometimes and just have fun. Isabela sat in a relaxed pose, watching the dance with slightly narrowed eyes and pointedly not impressed - the first sign that she was actually impressed. Merrill was predictably excited. She gasped at every dangerous trick, clasped her hands worriedly and covered her mouth admiringly when the fire drew another elaborate pattern in the air.

Anders leaned forward, looking at Hawke with hungry, almost predatory rapture. If Varric wins his bet and Hawke chooses the healer, the dwarf would have to warn her. The apostate looked at her not like a man at a woman he loves, but like a fanatic at regalia of his cult.

Speaking of the bet...

The elf sat with his usual imperturbable face, but he followed with his intense gaze Hawke's every move. His green irises looked like a thin border because of how much his pupils had widened. It was hard to tell which of the sparks in the darkness were reflections of the mage's fire and which - of his own interest.

What was even more interesting - Hawke's own intentions. Today, she would most likely leave with a bronze-skinned drummer, who devoured her with deep shimmering eyes and interlaced the rhythm of his music with her dance perfectly. But what was more important in the long term perspective - was who the mage will look at in the first moment after she finishes moving.

He waited and - naturally - enjoyed the magnificent view.

* * *

Tevinter mages, even poor ones, consider using their magic for tricks like these as shame and disgrace, so he never saw a show so impressive even at Danarius's feasts. But after a little while he couldn't call it "tricks" any longer. It was something more, not just performance, or a dance or even magic.

It was a burst, a rebellion, a scream of loss. It was strange to realize that independent, careless Hawke was hurt so much by the leaving of her brother. Too proud to complain or talk about it, she expressed her resentment without words. Just with desperately sharp, provokingly risky movements and fire.

She flaunted flaming, complicated lace and hid behind it like under a veil. A paradox, like everything about her. It was a warning and bait at the same time, a challenge to try to get past those burning barriers and certainty that no one would dare. He wanted to step through those blazing elusive walls and catch her hand, but restrained himself.

_Don't be a fool, you're imagining it. You see what you want again. It's Hawke, what could she know about loneliness?_

With the last strikes of the beat resounding across the room and fire dying out on her staff, she dropped down in mock-curtsy, almost kneeling, but with her back proudly straight. When she slowly lifted her lashes and he met her eyes in the fallen darkness, there were the most wild, restless and bright blazes of that night.


	8. Glad you took the time to say hello

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers 3 years gap between acts, because, well, I don't believe that all bandits and blood mages all together just took 3 years vacation and Hawke didn't interacted with companions.

**Never thought that anyone could change my view**

_One month and three weeks after the Deep Roads; early morning in Hightown_

"Hey, it's just me! Don't kill me!"

With Fenris you learn to announce yourself louder and earlier than any doorkeeper. Even Isabela doesn't try her usual "sneak and slap ass" game with him. Not after the first time, when he didn't recognize her and almost chopped off her leg.

"I know it's you. Hunters don't stomp like a drunk splayfooted elephant."

It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to semi-darkness of the mansion after the bright light of the street. I finally discerned the elf at the other side of the hall. He was in the shadows near the stairs, where streams of sunshine from the holes in the roof couldn't reach.

"Chivalrous as always." I grinned, taking a few steps forward. Fenris was in his vest, but without chest-plate, and with his sword. "If you knew it was me, why are you armed?"

"I was training." He glanced at his sword, then looked me straight in the eyes. "But..."

Fenris is able to express more with silence than many through florid verses - in one short phrase and a quirked eyebrow he managed to insert a subtle question about why I came earlier than we arranged a polite hint that he was busy but also generously willing to stop if I insisted. Indispensable in noble society, that ability. Mother tried to cultivate it in me from childhood.

"No, no. Carver always rants that exercising should not be interrupted." I shook my head and waved my hands dismissively. "Don't mind me, I'll just sit quietly, stare out the windows..." I glanced at the glass, impenetrable because of grime, and corrected myself "... stare at the dirt on the windows... I won't distract you, I promise."

Mother was writing a letter to Carver this morning and it was absolutely impossible to hear all those mournful sighs and secretly blaming lamentations, so I ran. Fenris examined me with a long, suspicious look, but then shrugged without other questions. He could be amazingly tactful in matters of running.

So I sat on the still intact corner of the once luxurious cushion and Fenris returned to his training. Of course, I saw Carver practice with a greatsword thousands of times. As it turned out, my brother's style differed from the elf's, like the swaying of a drunk sailor as compared to the performance of a professional dancer.

I knew, of course, that Fenris was a remarkable warrior, but in battle all I could usually notice were flashes of blue light here and there and abrupt, brutally effective strikes if he happened to be close to get me out of corner. Now it was a long, masterly weaved chain of complex combinations without a fumble sliding from one to another, executed with natural grace and visible easiness. But as it went on, I realized other differences. Fighting, all his displays of emotion usually consisted of short irritated curses in Tevene under his breath. Now he was silent, but in his every move blazed raw, furious rage. He rushed about the room with vicious speed and unpredictability, flashing up in columns of light from roof's holes just to slide into dusk in the next moment. Specks of dust flew up and swirled in sunrays, disturbed by the elf's steps, but couldn't even start to fall down before he'd swept them away with a fierce blow. I wanted to pretend I was a part of the furniture while he worked, but when he finally stopped and looked at me, I had an instinctive urge to jump up and say something like "Oh, I just remembered I have to save kitten from a tree, so I should go. See ya!"

He stood in the shadows very still, with his sword lowered, but I knew this calmness was false. Like spring's thawed icicle, seemingly solid, aglisten and impeccable, but ready to burst into sharp shards. Old, forcibly restrained hatred and painfully ferocious tension were written all over his pose: strained muscles of thrust out arm with the sword, tightly shut lips, stretched at cheekbones skin that almost turned white, dilated nostrils. I never was actually afraid of him, not when we yelled at each other, not when he threw the bottle at the wall near me, not even when he tore someone's heart out in my sight. But now I looked in his eyes, green-grayish and cold like a morning fog over lakeCalenhad, hiding the tower, but letting the iron glitter of the Templars swords remind me…

 _This man hates the very essence of what you are_   _. He'd want you to be locked up for the rest of your life. He'd prefer that those like you never existed. You remind him of his torturer and he can't see the difference because of the pain. Stay away from him or one day this blind frenzy will unleash upon you._

I stood up at stiff legs and lifted up my chin, refusing to give in to a cowardly impulse.

"You seem to be angrier at shadows than at actual enemies we fight." I tried to smile nonchalantly, but I guess it turned out like a lop-sided tense grin.

"I don't have personal issues with bandits. But shadows can have whatever face I prefer." His grave voice was cold and heartlessly harsh like a winter's wind. Only Fenris can be sweaty, disheveled, breathlessafter training and still look like a solemn ghost. He stood in the darkness and flows of light around him seem to be the bars of his cage. I wanted to get him out of his sullen, paranoid imprisonment, his teeth-clenching bitter solitude, to distract him from his desperate vicious battles, where he fights a hundred shadows with his former master's face, but they still haunt him everywhere. But it seemed pointless and even a bit cruel, as if bothering a man with an old wound that never stops bleeding.

Darn, just look at that! Ugh, this guy got  _me_  brooding!

"People shouldn't fight with shadows," I said didactically and walked up to him. "Well, not unless it's some animated, aggressive shadows."

"A shadow is sometimes the only companion one can…" he started with the same brooding tone and I kicked at his shin. He jerked his leg away before I was even close, looked at me like a tired tiger at a mad sparrow and quirked his eyebrow questioningly.

"Try me. I used to spar with my brother." I explained, picking up my staff. I knew I'm walking a very thin line here, but I had to risk it. He has to learn the difference between a whip and friendly pokes or he'll always be the ghost with never-healing wounds.

"Why sudden concern about my training partners?"

Sometimes you bury yourself in the past so deep and zealously, that it covers your ears and arguing with you becomes useless and even encouraging in some way. I hope the kicking will distract you." I grinned and lunged my staff at him.

He blocked without even moving his arm, just twisting his wrist for a little and stated in delightfully condescending manner. "In a fair fight, you wouldn't get me in thousand years."

Fair fight for him it's a fight without magic. I tried to kick him again.

"I will kick you when you're being prejudiced too."

"Kick the air around my leg, you mean. Yes, that'll teach me."

"I'm thinking about adding arrogance to the list, but I'm afraid I would hurt my foot."

"Of course you would. You'd have to kick yourself constantly."

"Oh, come on, don't just stand there!" I waved my staff, he blocked without actually moving again. "We could just mess around, like playing, it's fun!"

For a second his eyes were sad and helpless, and then he just turned away and walked to his jug with water. Rex had the same look when he was a pup and saw a big bone lying on the table that he couldn't reach. I sighed, while he drank and freshened up.

_Well, alright, too many joyful words, too soon, your broody nature can't stand them yet, I got it._

"I meant to drop into Darktown, if you don't mind."

He shrugged and shook his head, water drops flying asunder from his wet hair, and this silly movement unexpectedly gave him almost a boyish look for a moment. "I don't see why not. You've been dragging me there quite often already."

"It's just… I don't know if you would want to accompany me. I'm going to spread some rumors about Anders' cats."

The elf quirked his eyebrow skeptically, one corner of his mouth twisting down sourly at the sound of the healer's name.

"You see, Anders is afraid that the locals eat his cats. I want to tell folk that he laid some curse or spell on the animals, so people would leave them be."

Fenris said calmly, as if it was a matter of everyday business, "Tell them that he feeds the cats special herbs, which are harmless to the animals, but make their meat poisonous for humans."

"Wow."

"What?"

"Honestly, I wouldn't expect such ideas from you."

"It's a common… fashion in Tevinter. Though of course they use wildfowl, not cats." He saw my surprised look and added with that flat, hollow tone that his voice took when he spoke about his former master. "Danarius would never eat anything before a special slave tasted it. Not me, though. I was too valuable an investment to waste on mere poison. Three men died like that in my sight."

I swallowed and rubbed my neck. I still couldn't get used to the way he spoke about Tevinter. Even though he ran from it, it was his world. The only world he knew, the only way of thinking that he was taught. Still, he doesn't live by their rules. It would be easier for him to be a bandit or killer, to treat the world as it had been treating him – mercilessly and dirty, with an excuse of simple surviving. But he never hurts innocents, refuses the Coterie's offers and tries to pay me back for help. He's a plain jerk toward mages, yeah, but he could easily sell us out to the templars or even kill and make it seem as if he had nothing to do with it – actions not just acceptable in the society he's used to, but plainly encouraged. He hadn''t still and not because he's not smart enough to think it through. He has his peculiar inborn sense of honor and dignity, and I can't imagine how he managed to keep it after being treated worse than a leashed dog for his whole life. He's cynical, desperate, defensive and explosive like a drunkdwarven bomber who's caught trying on a dress. He has every excuse to be a scumbag; still, he tries to be noble. Tripping and making mistakes the whole way, of course, but learning, and that's why I'm putting up with all his bitter angry crap.

"It should be something more impressive than just poisoning." I rolled my eyes thoughtfully and grinned. "Like, crabs will pour out of his mouth!"

"Crabs?.."

"Yeah! What, you think crabs are not impressive enough? Well, maybe you're right, we should settle for spiders!"

"Who will believe in that idiocy?"

"Like Varric always says, the shittier the bullshit, the more it's catchy. People will remember and tell each other! And I know I'd believe just about anything if you'd tell me it with your grim stony face. Just frown your black bushes of doom menacingly, like you always do when someone says that mages aren't evil."

Fenris turned around and walked away.

_Oh, great. Did he get offended because I insulted his eyebrows or because I implied that he's wrong about mages?_

"Assuming you'll go…" I muttered reluctantly, staring at his back.

_If it's because of eyebrows, I don't mind it, I think they're cute anyway._

He picked up his chest-plate from the chair in the corner of the room and turned to me with that maddening sly grin of his.

"Telling people the mage is dangerous and they should stay away from him? Why wouldn't I go?"

I chuckled while he started fastening his armor.

"While you're at it, can you tell this to everyone who wants me to deal with their problems? Aveline says I should serve the city!"

"Oh?" He closed the last clasp and looked up at me with a crooked eyebrow. "They're lacking clowns?"

"Hey! You arrogant herring!"

He curled his lip with disgust, like every time when someone mentions something magical or fishy around him, and walked to the door. I followed him, grinning, feeling a little juvenile, but no less satisfied.

"Hey… So, you saw elephants?"

"I have this deed in the list of my achievements, yes."

"…what are they like? I never could quite picture them from the book's descriptions."

He thought about it for a second and looked at me.

"They're like dragons." He said with his serious face. "If dragons had crumpled grey skin instead of scales, wings in place of ears and a tail in place of a nose."

Fenris smirked when I laughed.

"I'm serious."

"Oh, sure! You just wanted to see if I'd really believe anything you say with the straight face."

"Undoubtedly this question had become my primal concern, but I  _am_  telling you truth…"

 _Screw that, at least when I'm around, I distract him from rubbing salt into his damn wounds._   _That's something._

* * *

_One year after the Deep Roads; a summer day at the docks_

"Coming to the docks to eat chicken wings. It's a special level of perversion." Hawke accused the elf with a mischievous reproach, opening and glancing in barrels around the remote from others berth. After a long search they finally managed to find among the endless fish-stores, a small counter where something different was selling. Hawke bought some overroasted and peppered over any common sense wings out of sympathy for Fenris's intolerance to fish, though it hardly helped. It doesn't take a wolf's nose to sense the stink of rotten fish bowels all around. Still, he was strangely glad to be here.

He was grateful that she spent her time and efforts dragging him out of the mansion. It felt differently to see the world without the desperate tension of constant fleeing.

"Just the same as looting through dirty barrels in the Docks right after getting a fortune." He parried and sat at one of the barrels that Hawke already checked. She snorted with slightly embarrassed blush and hopped on another barrel with an independent, proud look.

"There can be really good stuff sometimes! I found an Amulet of Ashes once."

"I wouldn't dare to doubt it."

She tried to kick him and almost fell from the barrel. He grinned and bit into his roasted wing. It was surprisingly good, with crispy crust and spices, which reminded him of the Imperium's food. Hawke took a couple of delicate bites and politely hid her disappointment.

"Elf! Get your lazy worthless ass to work instead of blabbing with that whore and…"

"Who?" Hawke turned to the dock worker, already on her feet and looking regally and mercilessly noble like a queen at a public execution – she had this look every time someone insulted her in a way she doesn't deserve. The man quickly weighted the rich material of her seemingly simple dress, ancient enchanted necklace, the crest and immediately backed away.

"My apology, Messere, I thought one of my workers was shirking his work again, you know how it's like with those knife-eared ba…"

Hawke took her dagger from the sheath at her hip and said coldly.

"One more word and you'll be a knife-eared, asshat."

He was smart enough to retreat silently and start shouting at stevedores at a safe distance.

"I can speak for myself." Fenris said flatly, when Hawke sat back down on the barrel with an indignant huff.

"He called me "whore"! Do you expect me to just sit there so your precious independence in matters of dealing with jerks won't be threatened?"

The elf sighed and returned to chewing at his chicken.

"I really don't get this 'racism' stuff anyway." Hawke muttered "Like, let's hate dwarves, what, just because they're short? Well, then why don't we hate our own children too? "

"Because they're less hairy and square?"

"Well, if you judge by stereotypes like drunkenness, bad temper and lies then Gamlen is totally a dwarf." Hawke said with a sour grimace, waving her roasted wing around. Fenris finished his own and threw bones to her mabari. Rex caught them in the air, liquidated it in one second and returned to his usual innocent 'Nothing happened, I deny everything' look.

The elf smirked at the dog and asked Hawke absently "You're going to?.."

She blinked at Fenris, glanced down at her barely touched food and held it out to him.

"Oh, sure you can have it."

Even when he was on the run, he never asked for anything, even for food in the direst of days. He'd either pay or even steal, but never ask, because his pride wouldn't abide anything remotely close to begging. Still, it never felt this way with Hawke. She behaved with just the right combination of clarity, sarcasm and informality to never make her help seem like pity.

It was just so easy around her. Easy to stop searching for humiliating undertones or constantly fighting for simple right to have his own to see the world not just as a constant threat. Easy to believe it's not too late. But also easy to get used to her, to start missing her, to wonder what it could be if…

Vishante, he knew he wasn't anything special to her. She spent no less time helping in Darktowns clinic and possibly twice as long bullshitting with the rogues. Still…

"So, where was I? Oh, right. But elves? What's the striking difference to hate? Seriously, there are many lop-eared skinny humans all around!"

"Lop-eared?"

Fenris could be inexperienced in relationships, but he was pretty sure it was not a term an interested woman would use. Not to mention "ridiculous", "bony" and "black eyebushes of doom".

"What, not? Just because your ears are pointy doesn't make them less sticking out. But funny ears are not a reason to call someone a 'low race'. pffft."

And her list of preferences. What was that? Brunettes and stubble, of course, because apparently male virility entirely depends on the ability of growing hair at inappropriate places.

"Oh, no, wait, there's one thing that is downright weird about you, guys. What's wrong with shoes, ha?"

"Not this again."

"It makes me cringe just looking at how you walk barefoot on sharp stones, not to mention Darktown's streets."

"Go pester the blood mage about it. I'm sure she knows an ancient legend that dramatically explains that quirk and foretells its significant role in the elven race's destiny."

"No, no, Merrill has way bigger issues to deal with. I'm not going to argue about fashion with the girl who thinks that blood magic is a friendship with poor demons and has a pet name for every one of her mirror shards."

He smirked, biting a roasted wing.

"But you seem to have some sense in you…"

He looked up at her, raising his eyebrows, and she quickly added.

"I mean, occasionally. Don't you think in those rare moments of enlightenment 'What the hell is wrong with me'?"

 _I think about it all the time,_ he thought grimly and sighed "It just… doesn't feel right this way."

"Hmmm. It's like cat's whiskers?"

"What?"

She tucked up one leg beneath her and started in her storyteller's tone, swaying her free leg mindlessly. "We had a cat when I was kid. Once Carver, being smaller and even dumber than now, cut its whiskers."

Her floor-length dress had a slit up to the thigh, so as she moved her leg, it would appear for a brief moment and then hide again under the dark-cherry skirt. Maddening. With women like Isabela it's simple and open by all means: everything that she has is in constant, somewhat honest display, you know you can get it without special effort. There is no idiotic tense waiting for such an innocently simple thing like a glimpse of the pale slender thigh.  _Venhedis_. He bit the wing so hard that the bone cracked and he had to throw it to Rex.

"I had not yet discovered my magic, but I still kicked his ass. And the poor cat was disorientated. Just… lost. Like it didn't know what to do with herself. And just because of whiskers!"

He knew that to get Isabela he wouldn't need flowers. He had not even the slightest idea what he needed to get Hawke, but he was fairly certain flowers wouldn't work.

_I blame magic. Just on general principle._

"Beth and I tended to the poor thing for like a month until his whiskers grew back. I thought maybe just like that you guys are uncomfortable with shoes because of the decreasing of some sort of sensory receptors or…"

_Marvelous. I remind her of a disabled animal. As if this whole foolish attraction wasn't pathetic enough._

That was the moment when tension and bitter anger at himself finally boiled over the edge and he jerked up his head.

"Do not compare me with your pet!"

She sprung up to her feet and backed away as if she was hit "Fuck, are you serious? If you seriously think that I was implying that… Ugh, I'll just fucking leave and never…"

"No," he said quickly. "I said it without thinking. I apologize."

 _I'm just tired of fighting with feeling that I can be sure you won't hold a leash even if it_ ' _s given voluntarily. I'm sick of running, but I'm afraid to stay, because I'm starting to trust you, dangerous, chaotic mage._

She lifted her chin and studied him with that look of offended queen. For a second, he thought she'd just turn around and walk away. But she folded her arms, frowned and changed from royal to childish.

"You prejudiced zander." She sighed "Alright, we both need to calm the hell down, so it's time to discover a new delight of domestic magic – the awesome fruit ice!"

* * *

_**Hey, Isabela! I couldn't find you in the Hanged Man, so I have to count on your nosiness and** _ _depravity_ _**, because I guess it's the only things with which one can always be certain in your case.** _

_**Anyway, I want you to borrow me a dress. You take my clothes constantly and without any permission, so don't even try to argue. It should be the most suggestive, provocative and** _ _indecent_ _**dress that woman can wear without actually showing her… er, treasures. Like, if a civil man meets a woman in this dress, he knows it would be just impolite to not sleep with her tonight. Well, you got the idea.** _

/

_Well, slap my ass and call me Betty,_ _is it finally happening? So you're the one to grow balls and make some move? That's about fucking time! I can't believe it took you so long! Tell you what – time for a slow progress with dresses and romantic stuff was over long ago, now it should be a cloak over the nakedness and one phrase: "My body is ready!" Got me? One phrase and don't let him fall into tragic monologues again. Oh, and don't use your usual "magical" lines, it'll ruin everything. So, happy flight for you, Hawke!_

_Varric,_ _where is my money?_

_/_

_**What in the name of Andraste's righteous leggings is that supposed to mean?** _ _**Did you get a rash in your brain?** _

_**My mother wants to introduce and marry me off to the Seneschal Bran's son.** _ _**I was like, "Whoa, yeah, bring that now! Dinner with two families!" I didn't even meet the poor bastard yet, but can you imagine what it would do to our Seneschal's arrogant, condescending, high-blooded ass to see his son being sassed by dirty mercenary like me? I'm gonna drown him in the filthiest, tasteless peasant jokes until Bran goes into frenzy and rips his perfumed doublet at his chest.** _

_**And what are you talking about? Where is my dress?** _

_**/** _

_Pha-ha-ha, Rivaini! No money for you. It's not like I don't think those two are blind idiots, but ha-ha at you anyway._

/

 _Spoilsport. Ugh, okay, I'll give you a dres_ s _, so you can bullshit with some poor guy, instead of, you know, having incredibly hot sex. But I'm so disappointed, I can't even think of a comparison for it._

_/_

_As a_ _renowned storyteller, I feel obligated to help you out with your metaphors, Rivaini. So how exactly disappointed are you? Maybe if after a vicious storm you were saved by a beautiful maiden, who returned you to life with a sweet magical kiss, but then you realized she's a fish from her waist down? Or as if you finally seduced one handsome prince, got him in bed and suddenly found a chastity belt, and the Grand Cleric herself has a key? Or maybe as if you couldn't forget an incredible night with a ferelden prostitute and dashing apostate with kinky "electrical" tricks, but when you met him again, he was possessed by a virtue-promoting spirit?_

/

_**You two roguish bastards, stop pouring your dirty fantasies into my personal journal!** _ _**Varric, if you can't keep them to yourself, go write another damn book and be over with that!** _

_**Isabela, take your dress, I don't need it anymore. Mother managed to notice it before the dinner, realized my vile sassy plans and** _ _**canceled** _ _**the whole event. She said she washes her hands of it and now I'm on my own in searching for a decent husband. She's just going to wait and brace herself for a scandal.** _

_**Oh, and Isabela, return my clothes – all of them, and the mage's robes and hat too. I don't want to know what "roleplaying" you needed them for, just bring everything washed twice.** _ _**Twice, I said.** _

* * *

_Two years and_ _three months after the Deep Roads; third attempt to find Isabela's relic_

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Hawke, I didn't want to... Oh, sorry..."

For a second I looked up from wet shards in my hands at Merrill, silently wishing she would shut up. But since I was neither a blood mage nor even an adept of Entropy, the elf didn't get the message and doubled her efforts in bewailing.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry, Hawke, I'm not guilty, I mean, it wasn't my intention, oh, sorry, I'm so clumsy... For once you brought me with you and all I brought to you are troubles and loss..."

_Did she learned these over-dramatics from Anders or it's something in the air?_

I sighed deeply and returned my attention to the shards. We were at Sundermount, seeking Isabela's relic in caves, but found only a group of Tal-Vashoth. As if it wasn't enough, Merrill managed to break all her bottles with lyrium potions. And since that morning I gave her the majority of them in our group's supplies, because they're light and she wastes her mana way faster than me, now we had only 3 bottles that I carried and Merrill's bag, flooded with lyrium and shattered glass.

_What is it with elves and broken bottles, huh?_

So now I was trying to extract all the shards from the bag and save as much loot as possible before it gets soaked with potions, Merrill was lamenting and apologizing around helplessly, Fenris breathed down my neck with the whole rant about "foolish dependence on magic" written all over his face and Isabela openly devouring him with invocatory gaze, almost wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. She was so demandingly expressive that the elf distracted from drilling holes in my head and asked dryly.

"You keep staring at me. Is it my eyes again?"

_Phuh. I can say that it's certainly not your eyes she's drooling for. Though it's hard to tell for what exactly, since there's quite a wide choice..._

"You're very lanky, for an elf. I like lanky."

I shook off a wet and apparently now ruined enchanted belt and gritted my teeth. "Famous elven grace and dexterity, my non-elegant human ass." I muttered grimly, provoking a new series of excuses from Merrill.

"From what I gather, you like a lot of things."

_Does he answer to her flirting? Really? I mean, seriously?.. Jeez, I hope they don't discuss their nightly festivities like her and Anders, when they got nostalgic about Denerim's brothel..._

"Maker's odorous garlic belch..."

"Nonsense. But when I see something I like, I go after it."

_A-ha, please, be so kind and go after him somewhere far from me._

"Andraste's swollen purple wart on her left holy buttock..."

"I suggest keeping your distance."

_Huh?.. Hmmm. Heh... Not as if I'd care anyway, of course. Why would I?_

"Now you're just making it challenging."

This time the elf didn't condescend to answer and the pirate pouted at me.

"Hawke! Your grumbling ruins the romantic mood. Why are you fussing over nothing?"

I huffed indignantly and shoved the wet stuff at her

"Nothing? I was going to make good money of those things! And besides, now I'm out of potions for myself and I'd prefer to face qunari with a barrel of them."

"Wait." Fenris frowned, stepping forward "You're going to give your own potions to the blood mage?"

I narrowed my eyes, "Blood mage or not, Merrill has a smaller reserve of mana and less battle experience. She needs them."

"She can just slit her wrists." He stated with cold despise and I stepped to him and poked my finger at his chest.

"Oh, sure! I'm trying to keep her from it since her arrival in Kirkwall and you're helping so much with your blind judgment. If she  _can_ use blood magic, it doesn't mean that she  _must_."

"Woohooo!" Isabela clasped her hands cheerfully "Good old fights over nothing, yay! You two were repulsively friendly after the Deep Roads; I started to miss the sexual tension in the air."

The both of us ignored her, being accustomed to such comments like a tired family with marasmic shameless grandmother, who wants to be the matchmaker.

"Give a blood mage a potion once, next time he'll demand your blood and then – life." Fenris twitched the corner of his mouth, lifting his lip a little, probably for illustration of which fang Merrill is going to use to suck all the blood out of me.

"She still can change her path and I'm not going to encourage her to sink deeper!"

"Not everything can be fixed. You can't turn a monster into an innocent again."

I could tell him plenty of things. That he just projects his own fears on everything. That branding others as monsters does not give him an excuse for giving up hope on himself. That he believes he's broken beyond repair just so he wouldn't need to change anything and try to come out of his damn shell.

I knew him well enough to aim a strike that will hurt. To hit him right into his cherished always-bleeding scars.

But, being a big soft 'Of course I will help you, random citizen' idiot, I just tried to kick him in the shin instead. He dodged as always.

Oh well, at least I made a point.

"Aw, don't be upset over it, kitten. Nobody thinks you're a monster." Isabela protectively embraced Merrill's shoulders, who looked as if she was about to start crying and before Fenris could object as he clearly intended, finished calmly "It's just his awkward, grumpy way to express his concern for Hawke."

Fenris shut his mouth with an almost audible clank.

"I still can't see the problem. You have lyrium at legs near you. Just lick him."

I snorted and prepared to retort something sarcastic back, but suddenly some part of my mind wondered with almost aloofness -  _Really, what would it taste like?_

"Bitter" was the first association with him, maybe even with metallic tinge. But this smooth skin had a shade of melted caramel that my parents brought for me in childhood, viscid and sweet. His skin was lighter and thinner where the markings laid, like streams of spilled milk. Do they feel and taste differently?..

_Jeez! Did Isabela bite me in my sleep?_

"I suppose I should be grateful you didn't suggest biting me." Fenris muttered with a sour crooked grin.

_Say something or Isabela will never let you live it down!_

"Bwah! I bet you're stringy and tough like a moose."

Yep, not a fibre of fat, just taut, sharply chiseled knots of muscles under the tan skin...

 _Really, what's wrong with you? It's not like you haven't had a man for weeks to start drooling over_   _… over Fenris, for the Maker's sake! He thinks you're just a vessel for a demon!_

"That's why we Dalishhave special recipes for cooking wild animals. With our marinades tough meat turns into a tender… "

"Thank you for another wonderful romp into the Dalish culture, Merrill, but we will not marinade Fenris."

"I am relieved." He said wryly and I gave him a mockingly ceremonial nod.

"Oh, I didn't mean that, of course, I'm sorry, I…"

"Hush, kitten, it's alright."

"Fine, let's move on, guys." I said and as we started walking, I caught up with the warrior.

"Fenris, I hope you understand that in those dire circumstances we must resort to unusual tactics."

"Why do I have the feeling this is going to be one of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard? Oh, right, because it's always like that with your plans."

"We should ambush them. You'll go to the cave with the qunari alone, say to them something really offensive in the Qun, so they'll flip their shit and run after you. And you'll lure them into a place where I and the girls will be waiting with traps."

"Oh, splendid! That's why Hawke is a leader; this girl is a tactical genius!" Isabela wedged herself in between us, enthusiastically clasping her hands "Though I have a constructive addition. To make it even more offensive, you should drop your pants and slap your ass! Mmmm, come to think of it, if you'll do it, you don't even have to insult them. They'll run after you anyway…"

"Nice try." The elf said flatly with his 'I'm sooo not amused' scowl.

"No, no, bad plan. This way I'll be alone during the ambush and that's not how it should work."

"Huh? Why alone?" Isabela crooked her eyebrow at me and I smirked

"Because Merrill has a bag full of shards and you know she's too obsessed with those things to pay attention to anything else and you'll run off to look at his ass."

"You can run off with me, Hawke. I know you're curious too. "

"I have had enough of this." Fenris said mildly. "I guess I'll have to walk first or you'll block the path when you faint at the sight of qunari."

"Hey! I'm not afraid of those stupid goatheads!"

"Undoubtedly. That's why you displayed unbelievable heights of oratory arts at the meeting with the Arishok."

"Sure, I couldn't get in a single word because  _you_  wouldn't shut up! I was about to leave you lovebirds alone."

"By running away in terror?"

Maker's drool, and I was trying not to hurt this bastard's feelings just a few minutes ago? He found my only… object of disturbance and he is going to kick it till it bleeds. I puffed out my cheeks, frowned brows, made horns with my fingers and glared at him.

"What is qunari word for 'asshole'?"

"Striking similarity. Now qunari will mistake you for one of them with that clever disguise." He grinned, walking past me. "When you'll crawl into a corner, try not to beckon too many of the enemies."

I stuck my tongue out at his back "You arrogant cod!" Fenris didn't answer, just walking forward.

"Why is he smiling?" Isabela whispered thoughtfully and somewhat accusingly, staring at his back.

"What?"

"He hides a smile every time he glances at you. How are you doing it?"

_He does?_

"Well, make faces at someone constantly and he'll get used to grinning every time he looks at you."

"No, it's not even grins. You'd be a better player in cards if you knew there's a difference between grins and true smiles…"

"And smirks! And difference between smirks and smiles is different from the difference between grins and smiles, but there's also a difference between grins and smirks…"

 _Thank you, Merrill. Maker bless your tactless, disorientated soul._   _I should bring her with me at every supposedly awkward conversation._

Still, whatever Isabela is trying to imply…

I have to be honest with myself: of course I like him. He's brilliant, sharp, honest and downright charming when he forgets to hate my guts. And after all this time I think against my better judgment I 'm started to like his look.

I like his ruffled shock of hair with strands of different length; it suits him. I guess he isn't aware that he's supposed to use a mirror when he trimmers them and he does it only when he can't see anymore. I like his stubborn, determined chin; I love to tease him about it when I demand him prove his "elvishness", because almost all other elves have rounded, not set forth chins. I like his black eyebrows; he can express with them a three-paged rant with historical references and ironic metaphors or make a woman blush. And I still can't quite comprehend that after all the atrocities and torments he's been through, there is still sun in his eyes when he smiles. And not bright blinding light, but soft and elusive, like sunshine through the foliage. I mean, it's just intriguing, how does he manage to smile like that and still be kind of a jerk.

_Two years and eleven months after the Deep Roads; regular check-up of the Bone Pit mines_

"Oh, this is truly malicious place! The horror becomes even more insufferable because I can't sense anything myself. Fenris, do your sharp elven senses register foul winds again?"

Importunate gusts of air which Hawke, who walked behind him, was sending, persistently ruffled his hair. She'll never let him live down that comment about "curse" of this place. Fenris sighed quietly.

"What, it's so bad that you can't even speak? Oh, don't be afraid, you're so bony that any living skeleton will take you for his own kind."

"Then you don't need to fear an invasion of pyromaniac clowns."

Isabela and Varric, who usually could help to change the subject, now walked a few steps ahead together, with enthusiasm discussing something that could relate to anything from weapons to intimate matters. And since descriptions like "hook-shaped" and "multi-holed" were slipping out, Fenris wouldn't want to know the truth in either case.

Hawke walked behind him, harassing him and making up absurd scary tales about the Bone Pit. In one of her versions, mines were named like this because somewhere here lays a giant bone with a pit in it.

"Can you feel how the terror sinks under your skin? Can you feel how icy shivers of fear run down your spine?.."

Indeed, he could feel a cold sensation sliding down through the gap in his vest, though he doubted it had anything to do with this place.

"I thought you didn't like it when your magic is called "fear" and "terror".

In one swift motion he turned around and caught Hawke's hand, cold and stretched out towards him. She gasped in surprise and in the trembling light of distant torches he could see how her eyes widened.

"I tried… to use… understandable for you… terms…" She almost panted, trying to pull her hand away, without any success. Rogues, deep in their conversation, were quite far away already and without their torches he couldn't see her face, but he could imagine tense anger and resentful confusion. This brief feebleness was a little revenge for all her endless mocking. For all that she was a powerful mage, in close range confrontation she was no match for him.

He felt how slender her aristocratic wrist was under his iron gauntlet and suddenly thought that she may be hurt. In the last years he got used to her light healing touches and now for the first time he was concerned that his touch could bring her pain. He unclenched his grasp, but she didn't jerk her hand away. She was hidden in the darkness, but her voice was unexpectedly soft.

"Your hands are cold."

He could remind her that it was because of her frost magic, but his mouth was glued shut. He knew he had to pull away. Her fingers were so warm, just natural, soothing warmth of her own skin without any spells and he stood still and silent like a stone.

"Seriously, you have to wear gloves at least." Her fingers slid up and found the fastenings of his gauntlet that cut into his skin. "This thing must chafe like Andraste's laced garters."

"I'm used to it." He said it just because he had to say something, and his voice was hoarse and almost breathless. She pressed her fingertips to his own lightly, her delicate hand hid in his bare palm.

It was the first actual touch they shared not borne of necessity. Just a weightless sensation of skin against skin. He knew it was normal for her. Nothing special – she hugged and nudged her friends constantly. She kept the distance only with him and now, when he broke it himself, it was just natural for her to linger in the touch. It's natural for normal people. Normal people don't shrink away when someone gets closer than a sword's length.

"You're used to a lot of a bad stuff."

He wanted to pull her closer. He didn't need to see her to know how she would lean against his chest and his free hand would circle her waist. He knew that to find her lips he wouldn't need any light besides the shining of wild blazes in her eyes.

He couldn't even interlace their fingers because of the sharp claws of his gauntlet. All he could do was just stand there like a helpless fool, staring in the darkness, mad at himself and trying to savour this elusive soft feeling of her narrow palm and tapering fingers in his hand. He was glad she couldn't see his eyes.

"Guys! Are you arguing again? Really, can you solve global, metaphysical problems of magic somewhere not in the cursed mines?"

They both started and shrunk away from each other like two scalded frogs.

"Sure, Varric, announce yourself louder, so all dragons and ghooooosts would know that we're here!" Hawke shouted even louder than the rogue and went down the caves. Fenris followed her, hiding his thoughts behind his usual calm veneer of indifference.

"You should've told me you need someone to hold your hand when you're afraid." She said in her normal sarcastic tone "It's okay, you don't have to pounce and catch my wrist for it."

"I've mistook you for a living skeleton. Is it some kind of japes when you call me "bony" if your hands are just bare bones, covered with skin?"

"Pffft! Skeletons don't have skin."

"Well, you could be a skeleton in gloves."

She laughed "You can't be too suspicious, yeah?"

"Careful."

"Oh, suuuure…"

"Guuuuuuuys!"

They walked side by side; both desperately trying not to accidently touch each other, but so close that he could feel how she swayed the air, swinging her hands as she walked.

He closed his fingers slowly, but now there was nothing but hollowness.


	9. And help me understand the best I can

_But something stirs and something tries And starts to climb towards the light_

* * *

_**That was… somewhat shocking, I suppose. I'm actually surprised Fenris managed to hide it so well for so long. I mean, you would never think of it if you didn't know.** _ _**Actually, he makes the opposite impression.** _

_**/** _

_Hawke, what are you talking about? Fenris managed to hide what? He has lacy underwear? He wears a wig? He's a human? He's *gasp* a mage? Hey, don't leave me hanging!_

_/_

_No wonder you still can't find information about your treasure with those pathetic investigating skills, Rivaini. I, for example, know exactly what she's talking about._

_/_

_Boo._

_If he wears a wig, I'll be disappointed._

* * *

Pies. He managed to casually dismiss me when I tried to talk about books, kept wrangling with Anders about his manifestos, made Aveline believe that he knows the code of law, but blundered into pies.

Fenris stared at the counter with severe concentration, like a serpent-charmer at the particularly insolent snake.

"Hey? Are you alright?"

"Yes, I am."

He clearly wasn't, because he abruptly grabbed a pie from a basket labeled as "fish". I raised my eyebrows and tried to meet his eyes.

"What, is this a day of self-destruction? Are you feeling not miserable enough?"

Fenris quickly put the pie back, took one from another basket and glanced at me as if checking for right reaction.

"Really, what's the matter? You stared at those labels for like eternity, how did you manage to get it wrong?"

He hesitated for a moment and said slowly.

"I couldn't… Slaves are not permitted to read. I've never learned."

There's one interesting thing about Fenris that I really appreciate – he can try to avoid a sore subject, he can shut up about it like a mute qunari, but he never lies. So when he says something, it's either truth or sarcastic nonsense to let you know he doesn't want to talk about it. And this time I choose wrong.

I laughed and pointed a finger at him "Phuh, that's a good one!"

He glared at me and, oh boy, marry me to a Templar if that expression wouldn't get him the Grand Prix at any scowl championship instantly.

"Nah, you're not seriously expecting me to believe this, right? It's probably just another bet with Varric. Come on, you know a bit about everything and four darn languages and you're telling me you can't read? I'm soooo not buying it!"

"Do you really think they teach slaves to read?" he growled, narrowing his eyes.

"You haven't been a slave for years! Oh, you still insist? Okay, hold on for a second…" I retrieved my journal from my bag and looked through it. "Where was it?.. Oh, here we go!"

I handed him the journal, opened it to Isabela's nonsense.  _That_  he won't be able to ignore. "This paragraph, from "Perish the thought".

Fenris cast a glance at it, but when he raised his eyes, there wasn't surprise or indignation as I expected. Just defensiveness and genuine, bitter pain "And what am I supposed to find there? A reminder of something I can never do?"

That's when I finally believed him, but I didn't manage to come up with something more tactful than to stare at him with open mouth "Ugh, crap, no way…"

No way can someone make arguments so logical and well-founded, have such vocabulary and a wide range of knowledge, including religion and history, and not know how to read! Maker's hic, I've been embarrassed every time when he casually mentioned another fact I didn't know, but now it turned out he learned everything without being able to read? Come on, he even knows the origin of the Bone Pit mines. I didn't, and I lived in Kirkwall for a whole year and  _own_  half of the damn mines! Not to mention that he speaks Tevinter, Common, elven, the Qun and Maker knows what else. I always gave him a credit for being observant and sharp, but to get everything literally out of the air… Having a mind so quick and tenacious, a memory so retentive and wasting all of it on brooding and eating himself up? That's a crime! That's…

"That's a shame!" The moment I said it, I knew it was the worst choice of words possible, but he didn't give me time to rephrase.

"Am I not learning your ways quickly enough to suit you? Really, what a disgrace!"

"I didn't mean it! I wanted to say, I can teach you…"

"Is that what it is? Let's teach the poor slave to read?"

"Argh! Stop saying the opposite of what I mean!"

"Let me release your noble presence of my disgusting sight" he spat and stormed away.

"Wait! Ugh, bloody idiot! We're not done, do you hear me? "

_Congratulations! You screwed this up royally._

His temperament is like the ruins of an ancient palace – it seems all quiet and stately and even somewhat fascinating, but then you step on a hidden trap and boom – you're smashed against the wall, doused in acid, and covered in batshit knocked loose from the rafters!

I have to admit, this time it was completely my fault. He was quite civil before I started openly jeering at him. I guess he would have agreed quite easily if I'd showed a bit more tact and less obnoxiousness. I don't think that problem is the difficulty of reading or something technical. But even if years of slavery didn't break him, they taught him to hate and think less of himself. They left scars in his mind that were maybe even deeper than his lyrium markings. What was Flemeth's phrase I mocked? "The chains are broken, but are you truly free?"

Yeah, he clearly isn't, but I didn't think it wasn't only apparent in his hate of mages and defensiveness. It seems he also has many personal barriers, cleverly hidden until I smack right into them.

_And half of them are about confidence and self-respect, so of course you just have to mock him about it now, when he started to kind of trust and respect you at last._

Ugh. Fine, fine, I was a bit of a tool. Are we going to just brood about it in his honor or actually do something?

_You'll have to come up with some really strong arguments. "You're an idiot" clearly doesn't work. Alright, what do we have here?_

His world is a minefield with a dire lack of resources, where surviving and waiting for the attack are just as natural as breathing. And it's normal for him; he can vaguely imagine that there are probably other ways of living, but clearly for someone else, not him. That's why he's so mad at everyone, especially mages, who blames pressure and circumstances for their crimes: his universe wants him to die, the earth is burning under his feet and the sky is about to fall down. So what, it's just the way life is, if you can't deal with it, go to the Circle, where your weak whiny ass won't be a danger to others.

He knows how to wring water out of stones and how to get stones out of someone else's kidneys, and he'll go on with it even if you get him a clear spring. He handles his luxurious mansion as if it's a Lowtown hovel. He feels just fine in critical uncommon situations; he'll stay calm and objective in front of an insane maniac who kills kids. While everyone else would just blab in disgust, fear or pity; he would make a rational, cold-blooded decision and even execute it, if you don't have the guts to do the right thing yourself. But try to involve him in normal social interaction and you'll get an agony of an electric ray out of water and a few burns if you happened to stand nearby of the thrashing tail.

So I can try to move reading from reserved for free-born people excesses list to useful for easier surviving skills and make him see that without it he can end up out of water again. I should be careful, though. I have to be annoying enough, but still harmless and silly to not provoke open aggression.

Maker's corn, I'm gonna end up with my nose punched through the back of my skull. And I won't even have a right to complain!

* * *

He didn't see Hawke for three days, but there still was a tense feeling in his throat when she walked up to him slowly. He knew he had no right to be mad at her. He remembered that day in the Deep Roads, when he waited for any signs of her disgust at the sight of the scars on his back. But there was just healing warmth and he foolishly let his craving for acceptance worm its way through his defenses. He should have never let her close, but he kept coming to her, and hating himself for that.

But of course it's not in her character to judge people by anything physical; intelligence and education is what matters to her. The most bitter was the thought that she'll never see him as an equal again. She won't take him seriously anymore. Why would she listen to the arguments of an illiterate fool?

Hawke took a deep breath and said quickly, "Hey, before you punch me through the wall, I have a few words. I acted like a tactless rabid monkey, I'm sorry. Really."

He sighed and opened his mouth to answer, but she held up her hands "Wait, I prepared a speech, so just let me spill it out. Honestly, I never wanted to establish any kind of moral superiority. I certainly do not think that the lack of some skill degrades a person, especially in your circumstances. I was just surprised that you were able to reach your level of intelligence without that skill. That was a compliment, by the way. "

He sighed tiredly.  _Venhedis._  He could accept the chasm between them, build fortified walls of reasonable arguments and then find her inside, somehow ignoring all of it.

_I don't have enough nerve for this._

"I was not behaving properly myself. You are not responsible for my deficiencies. I…" He decided to keep it polite and indifferent, but with Hawke even if you can sometime manage the first, the last was nearly impossible.

"What? Deficiencies? Oh, bullshit! It's not fucking wings; you don't have to be born with them! You learn it!"

"Of the all things I wasn't born with, now I need ear-plugs."

"Come on! Let me teach you! You'll like it, I promise!"

"You said that about the stew in Lowtown too."

"Really, it's useful. One of the very few ways to get Varric distracted in the middle of Wicked Grace is to criticize his books, I guarantee you. "

He just folded his arms silently. Even if she wasn't condescending, he still wasn't going to accept help out of pity or a sense of guilt over being tactless for a minute. Hawke flung up her hands and rolled her eyes.

"Jeez. Sure, al my family's portion of wisdom and persuasion went to my cousin. Ravyl managed to unite the whole country and replace the king, and I can't convince one elf that I'm competent enough to teach him reading. No, no, it's alright. To each his own, that's fair. I have dirty stupid tricks to compensate for my lack of charisma."

_It is not going anywhere pleasant._

"So, you have at last chance to save the dignity of both of us. No? Figures."

She sighed and then suddenly pointed her finger somewhere over his shoulder.

"Look, boobs!"

He just raised his eyebrow at her and she explained with an awkwardly wide smile

"You were supposed to turn around."

"I got that."

"Damn, it always works with Carver…"

Then something shattered loudly behind his back and he immediately turned on bare reflexes, reaching for his sword, but saw only Rex, Hawke's mabari, cheerfully wiggling his tail over the shards of a fallen vase. At that moment he felt a light push on his back and faced Hawke, taking off a piece of paper with something written on it.

"And what is  _that_?"

"Well, it's my thoughts about you without any censorship. Like, all horrible truth and accusations. But oh, what a pity, you can't answer because you can't read it!"

He stared at her in disbelief for a few seconds, then closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, reminding himself that he decided to act civil this time.

"Really? This is your plan?"

She shrugged with lop-sided grin "I warned you it's gonna be stupid."

* * *

One time in the Hanged Man, when he felt a familiar push on his shoulder, he pretended that he didn't notice Hawke walking past him, and came up to Varric's table. The dwarf looked up from the cards in his hands and grinned

"Oh, here you are! We have to wait a bit for the others to join and… Hey, you have something on your shoulder."

Fenris made a surprised look and shrugged with calculated negligence, so the scrap of paper fell right on the table before Varric. Like the elf expected, the rogue grabbed it immediately

"What is that?.."

"Hawke invented another foolish amusement, labeling me with insults."

"So it's not the first one?"

Fenris silently got the other pieces from his pocket on his belt. It wasn't good to let Varric put his nose into this, but at least he'd finally know what was written there. But strangely, the dwarf didn't start declaring it out loud and commenting. He read them with raised eyebrows and opened mouth, then looked up at the elf with bewilderment and suspicion in his eyes.

"So, what's there this time?" Fenris asked, tense, but trying to sound nonchalantly.

Varric examined him for a few moments and then broke into a wide smile, as if he just made a conclusion that amused him to no end.

"No, no, I won't say it out loud. It's too dirty, I'm going to blush. But it's really… innovative insults, would you mind if I write them down for… "

"I would." Fenris growled, snatching scraps out of Varric's hands. The dwarf just chuckled, returning to shuffling cards.

* * *

The next time Hawke tried to stick another piece of paper on his back, his anger finally boiled up through the mask of indifference. He turned to her abruptly, that old feeling of being helplessly harassed causing his markings to flare up. Fenris stopped moving, hovering just above her, with his hand raised, because he realized he didn't know what he would do next. Take away this paper and tear it to pieces like a senile hysteric? Run away from a few written words? Catch her wrist, shake her, hit her like a cornered wounded animal that tries to escape?

"What do you want of me?" He growled, so close to her face he could see his own reflection in her widened eyes. "Do you want a funny toy to play with? Or you think my debt is not great enough and you need to deepen it? Or can you simply not pass up a chance to play the noble savior of a pathetic slave?"

She swallowed, but didn't back away or turn her gaze.

"What? Jeez, no! It's not about me! If you have someone else with whom you feel comfortable, then great, go ahead, I'll leave you be. You think I'm so confident myself? Maker's balls, no! Actually, I'm certain that I'm gonna be an awful teacher! Just terrible. I don't have the methods and patience, but I do have a stupid sense of humor and… Alright, I think it's pretty obvious why. With someone else I wouldn't even try, but you're brilliant. I'm sure you'll get it even with my incompetence."

When he thought about it later, taking a break from trying to make sense out of seemingly meaningless signs, he realized that it wasn't even the compliment that disarmed him, but the way she said it.

It wasn't encouragement or reserved hope. It didn't sound like an appeal or challenge. It wasn't also overrated expectations; she didn't expect him to be faultless. She said "brilliant" as a matter-of-fact, and after years of being reduced to the self-esteem of a trained animal Fenris couldn't betray someone who for once had faith in him. When he felt helpless or that the entire situation seemed to be too pathetic, her confidence and sincerity didn't let him give up. His desperation often boiled up his temper, demanding to send her off, but even in those moments of weakness he couldn't find a justified excuse. There wasn't anything to rebel against. She had no personal gain and she didn't even mock him. Actually, when they were stuck at something, Hawke blamed herself.

"I can't explain simple things." She muttered once, rolling her eyes desperately. "Oh my, this is so embarrassing. I'm like a dog. I know what I want to say, but I can't put it into coherent words. My mabari is better at expressing thoughts than I am. Oh Maker, I'm so useless."

She sighed and smacked her forehead against the desk.

"Don't do that..."

"Don't comfort me; I know I suck." she said, still not lifting her head.

"Don't do it, you're ruining my furniture."

She straightened up, laughing, and kicked at his shin. He pulled his leg away, and she hit the chair instead.

"Ouch!"

"I told you to stop beating my furniture."

"You mean the few of it that survived your excellent care-taking?"

Hawke wasn't a good teacher, truly. In the end, it was her attitude that made the difference. For the first time, someone bothered to think about him as a person. She worked just as hard as he did and never once showed regrets that she had offered her help. And when he managed to read the whole paragraph right on the first try, the open pride in her smile suddenly made the struggle all worth it.

After some point that he didn't quite catch, it stopped being a maddening torment. Reading stopped taking effort, letters that always were a privilege of "higher" beings started to form words fast and naturally. It felt almost overwhelming. Everything that he had caught in snatches of conversation and good luck was now relatively readily available.

He read about countries through which he ran before and then told Hawke about them, comparing his experience and the books descriptions. She listened with wide shining eyes, asking questions and holding her breath when she was especially excited. She dreamed about travel, it was obvious, and for her he tried to remember all the interesting details that weren't described in the books. And somehow it turned out, there really was not just desperation, fear and hate in his memory. His grim past suddenly filled with colors and he could finally appreciate everything that didn't matter before, because it wasn't important for survival.

For the first time after his escape, he finally had something he didn't want to lose.

* * *

"Fenris, it's a quill, not a sword. You're not gonna stab the paper with it, change the angle. Yeah, that's more… Oh Maker, again."

"Venhedis."

"It's not a mage's neck, don't clutch it so much. It won't write more smoothly, it will just break."

"I know."

I bit my lip to hide a smirk. There was a so severe, focused anger in his glare that I wouldn't be surprised if the paper flares up. Well, at least now our problem is technique, not understanding, so I can joke around.

"I can't read that. It's a trail of convulsing dying caterpillar, not letters. No, no, you're not supposed to make a puddle and spread ink on the paper. Just keep it at the quill."

"Easy for a mage to say."

"Oh, come on, it takes the right angle, not force magic." I sighed, rolling my eyes, and without thought covered his hand with mine. "Let me just show you, like that…"

Then I realized what I just did and panicked, because sudden physical contact with Fenris often provokes his "glow up and punch through" reflex. But he just inhaled sharply and tensed, his knuckles whitening.

_O-okay, as long as he doesn't flip tables I guess we're good. Act calm, like you know what you're doing._

"Easy there. Don't use your strength. It's just unfair for the poor little quill, you know…"

I remembered that day in the Bone Pit mines, our touch, which lingered for much longer than I would have expected from him. Very lightly, I stroked his skin, felt how his stiff fingers slowly relaxed and for a short moment I thought that we're both just anxious idiots, afraid to scare each other away. And if I'd just intertwine our fingers now…

_What in the name of all that is sane are you doing? You want him to think that you helped him just to get in his pants?_

That's nonsense, I don't want…

_Then write something - something really short – and back off!_

Suddenly, I felt his warm breath at my cheek and realized that he turned and looked at me. But nope, no way I'll stare back at those damn gorgeous eyes when we're so close. Carefully, I put his fingers in the right position and lead his hand. When there was crooked, but readable " _sun_ " on the paper, I let go and moved aside, still avoiding his gaze.

"See, that was easy, wasn't it? So just…"

"Hawke," he said abruptly, and the husky sound of his deep voice made me look at him. We still were too awkwardly close and under his intense, searching eyes I felt caught.

"Yeah?" I tried to sound nonchalantly and smiled.

"What…" he stopped for a second, titling his head towards me for a bit, and I licked my lips involuntarily.  _Damn it!_ "What was on those papers that you were shoving at me?"

"I don't remember taking them away."

"I… liquidated them accidentally," he shrugged with a short, wry grin.

_Hah, I knew I could count on his short temper!_

"Well, then maybe you were just not destined to see them," I said with fake solemnity, smiling all widely and innocently to relieve the tension, and trying to not let my gaze slide to his lips. He stared at me for another second, his eyes darkening, and then turned to the table, dipped the quill in the bottle of ink and wrote with legible letters right under our " _sun_ ".

" _Perhaps it was never meant for me._ "

Oh, jeez. You're being overdramatic again, aren't you?

"Did I get it right?" He asked, turning to me with a crooked eyebrow and a tense, bitter smirk.

_Well, I don't know what other, undoubtedly dreary, things you were implying there, but those two lines together already look pretty depressing, and I'm not playing in your brooding games._

I took the quill, wrote next to his sentence " _hairbrush_ " and stared back at him.

He raised his eyebrows for a second, but then shook his head and chuckled shortly.

I couldn't fight a smile, looking in his lightened eyes. "We have to do something with those broken quills. I suggest adding them to your armor as trophies. You can't have too many feathers on your gauntlets, am I right?"

* * *

_Strangers passing in the street_   
_By chance two separate glances meet_   
_And I am you and what I see is me_   
_And do I take you by the hand_   
_And lead you through the land_   
_And help me understand the best I can_


	10. I hope you have found a friend

**I know who I want to take me home**

_The First Year_

One morning Hawke showed up at his mansion dressed in the light scarlet dress, clearly not intended for battle, and with her black hair not in the lousy ponytail that she usually made, but falling in free soft waves.

"Hey. It's Satinalia!" She said, smiling radiantly "There is a festival at the square. Come with me?"

"Just us?" Fenris asked with slight surprise. She waved her hand dismissively.

"Well, everyone else is busy or thinks it's too silly… I know, I know, you probably think it's nonsense too, but hey, it is the Day of Fools! I thought it's special for two of us."

He shrugged after a short pause, appreciating the irony. It wasn't t like he had anything better to do and, besides, she was so beautifully joyous today that he could look at her if the festival was boring. He nodded his consent and moved to follow, but at the threshold she turned to him, frowning, and held up her hands.

"Wait, wait, no! Leave those horrendous clawed gauntlets at home for at least today. It's a holiday! Fun, joy, a festival, you know. You shouldn't go preparing to rip someone's guts out. Just the sword is more than enough. Besides, even if we get into trouble, you can fight without them just as fine."

His nose wrinkled in derision.

"It's foolish! I won't discard a piece of protection!"

Hawke put her hands on her hips, but the smile never left her face.

"Oh, come on! You fight on a regular basis with your arms bare from elbow to shoulder, and I honestly don't know how you still have all of your toes, considering all the places where you go barefoot. Those gauntlets won't make a difference when we are out celebrating a  _holiday_! "

"The situation doesn't matter; there is always a possibility for the slavers to attack!"

"Oh please, you're not protecting yourself; you're just hiding from the world behind all those pointy spikes. You don't need them to be confident and capable!"

"It seems you lack an understanding of the purpose of armor. To hide from the world, people use doors. Let me demonstrate!" he snarled and slammed the door in her face.

"Argh! You're bloody…Ouch!" he heard how she kicked the door from the other side.

"I'm not going anywhere! Stop acting like a panicked hedgehog already!"

After a minute of silence Fenris quietly looked through the window. Hawke sat on the steps, playing with her gold bracelet. He sighed and started pacing nervously. He knew that she was right, he was being irrational; But being outside without even one element of his armor made him feel vulnerable. Anxious. Unprepared. It left a crack in his carefully crafted shell of self-confidence. He cursed quietly. How frightened and foolish he must look to Hawke, who was comfortable in a light dress. Then again, she's a mage; she always has her most powerful weapon with her.

_Why can't you just leave me in my misery and not make everything so conflicting?_

She was so stubborn that she'd sit there all day and miss this festival she was so excited about while he was sitting here feeling pathetic, bitter and hopeless.

But clinging to an illusion of protection is a weakness. Like Hawke's mabari, who was fond of hiding its head under the curtain and thinking he was safe and invisible.

_You shouldn't depend so much on anything. You can lose everything any moment and you should still be able to survive. Items are for using, not for getting used to them._

He took a deep breath and started unfastening his gauntlets slowly. Through the window he could see how Hawke winds her bracelet round her fingers and trying to resemble some form of knuckle-duster.

_But most of all, you should not let yourself start depending on her._

* * *

In late evening, we stood watching the revelers in the square. I asked Fenris if he would like to dance and he just gave me a look, as if I suggested performing a blood magic ritual. Well, at least he didn't say "Do you really think they teach slaves to dance?" Honestly, I didn't really expect him to agree, so I just shrugged. Earlier I managed to tie few colorful ribbons to the spikes at his shoulder-pads, while he was busy taking wreaths and flowers off his head, so I felt pretty accomplished for today.

Suddenly some guy came up to us. He was quite handsome, well-dressed and there was genuine admiration in his smile.

"Hey, beauty. Would you honor me with a dance?" Then he noticed Fenris and added politely "Of course, if your companion doesn't mind…"

Fenris stepped back, shaking his head and looking aside at the ground. "It's not my place to object."

I almost agreed, but then glanced at Fenris again and imagined how he would stand there, alone in the joyful crowd, stooping, but still too noticeable and strange, feeling like a fool with those bright ribbons, but too proud to show it.

"No, sorry," I smiled pleasantly, "I don't dance."

The man shrugged, smiled back with slight disappointment and walked away.

"You were more than willing few minutes ago," Fenris said quietly, not looking at me. Shit, and I have to convince him that it's not because of him or he'll start his "I don't need your pity"-routine again.

"He didn't seem all that graceful. He'd stomp my feet flat."

"And I wouldn't?"

"You don't have iron heels."

* * *

_The Second Year_

"Kaffas!"

"Bless you," Hawke said absently, struggling forward through the festival's crowd.

"I did not sneeze," Fenris rolled his eyes at the back of her head.

"Oh, that was one of your curses? Sorry. What happened?"

"Almost-successful pickpocketing."

"Hah. Well, this is the place to expect it. Oh, by the way, Varric made a deal with his criminal contacts, so now they return all purses with the Amell emblem. It already saved a lot of Carver's money. You can get it on yours too."

Fenris almost tripped in surprise and indignation.

"I will not let anyone put their mark on me!" he almost shouted. His hand reached for his throat, involuntarily defending the place where it was collared before.

Hawke turned on her heels viciously, glaring at him with her look of an offended queen.

"What? Oh Maker's ear wax! You're such an overreacting, dramatic cod! Did I tell you to wear my crest or carry my banner behind me? It's just a patch on the purse; nobody would even see it most of the time! I just wanted to help, but whatever. It's your money after all; feel free to see non-existing implications."

The elf took a deep breath, swallowed and said, lowering his hand.

"I've misunderstood your intentions."

"As always," she rolled her eyes and continued making her way to the scene in the corner of the square. "Well, Varric asked for a recognizable symbol, and I thought why invent new, if I've already had a good one."

"Old-fashioned nobles have their emblems embroidered on everything that could be skewered with a needle?" he teased, smirking.

"Exiled, impoverished nobles even more so," She laughed awkwardly. "When it's the only thing that still connects you with your heritage, you can be a bit obsessive with it."

The grin immediately vanished from his face. Her words rang with his old, bitter feeling of loneliness, with hopeless longing for lost roots. He'd give anything to find out where he belonged before his memory and past were taken from him.

"You know, before I bought our estate back, there were slavers. Slavers in my family's estate! Yeah, sure I wiped them out; it was before we had met. But what infuriated me the most – they kept our crest on the wall. I mean, it's our history, it's our heritage and pride, I won't let those pigs hang it there just 'cause it's pretty. Ugh. And I tore it off the wall and brought it to Gamlen's hovel. Yep, all by myself, Carver was just freaked out. But it was the Amell's residence at that time, so  _that_ 's were our crest belonged."

 _Still, she was willing to let me use it_.  _It was a gesture of a certain trust and acceptance, and I yelled at her for it._   _Venhedis, she must think I'm incapable of gratitude._

"I… appreciate your offer."

But she didn't hear him already – she was jumping at her tip-toes, trying to see over the crowd to the distant scene.

"Oh, it's a Ferelden troupe, and they're playing "The Tale of Calenhad"! It's just the beginning! Hah, look, it's young Calenhad and there is Arl Tenedor… Shit, I can't see Aldenon the Wise, he's my favorite…"

The play was apparently good, because the crowd was too dense and interested for Hawke to make her way closer to the scene. Even without magic, she wasn't a delicate flower or weakling by any means, but too slender for such a crush here. She could be up there, though, in the special boxes for nobles, but then she'd have to introduce Fenris as a servant or he wouldn't be allowed. For someone so proud of her heritage, she was amazingly quick to relinquish her privileges for the sake of his pride. It felt very strange to realize that someone – and a high-blooded mage, nonetheless - was willing to give up something for him, even if it was so insignificant.

"Follow me," he said, stepping forward, but she held up her hands and shook her head.

"No, no, don't! I mean, you're barefoot and you hate touches and it's gonna be an awful mess…"

Fenris felt a gloomy tenderness, which he didn't expect from himself, twisted his lips in a crooked grin.

_You still don't understand what I am, do you?_

He led Danarius through the madness of a qunari attack to the ship in time to escape, half-dead from wounds himself. Getting Hawke through the festival's crowd to the scene could not be a problem.

"Just stay close."

* * *

"Oh, look, it's an arm-wrestling competition down there! The smith lets you choose any of his goods, if you beat him," I stared at Fenris expectedly, but he didn't react as much as shrugging, so I continued. "Isn't it interesting?"

"Exciting," the elf muttered indifferently.

"The smith looks really strong, yeah? Though he's lucky you're not into fun stuff, or he'd be ruined."

"Undoubtedly so."

_Undoubtedly so? You arrogant trout, I've paid you a compliment, you can give me at least some attention!_

"Or maybe not. This guy does look pretty impressive. He's like two times bigger than you!"

_Gee, look, I'm provoking "size-doesn't-matter" arguments. Way to stay classy, Hawke!_

"He's blacksmith, not a fighter. There is no competition."

"Maybe he's actually stronger than you? You can't brag without proving. I could've said the same! 'Cause you know, I'm a mage and we're just the best."

He finally stopped and turned to me with incredulously crooked eyebrow

"I was one of the best warriors of the Imperium and I prevented the ogre from stomping at your head just this past week. If I could've imagined any profit that you can get from me winning this game, I'd consider this dialog as a pathetic attempt at manipulation. But I can't see any practical reasons for you to start it, so do you feel not foolish enough for such a special occasion?"

I sighed, feeling how my cheeks becoming hot with a blush, "He has amazing candlesticks, really charming, and with enamel of different colors…"

"Candlesticks?" he repeated with an eyebrow quirked skeptically

"What? I like candlesticks, and those are really great!"

"You're not good at manipulation when you pursue selfish goals," Fenris said mildly. I sighed and rolled my eyes, but he continued after a short pause. "And I highly appreciate this."

I stared at him, not quite trusting my ears and not sure how to react.

"Why didn't you just ask?"

"Because I thought it would sound silly."

"And you think your senseless prodding was smarter?"

I made a face at him, but then realized that there wasn't venom in his voice and his eyes were warmly green without usual grayish note of steel. So I shrugged and decided to give it a try.

"Mmm… Please?" I grinned widely, but I suppose a bit awkwardly too.

He gave me one of his brief sun-lit smiles and turned away, heading for the smith.

"Hey, wait!" I cried out, trying to catch up with him. "You didn't even ask what color I want!"

"There is no need," he answered confidently without missing a step "I know you'll want red."

* * *

_The Third Year_

"It's a lifetime sentence, you know," Hawke said thoughtfully, looking at jugglers in the center of square. She took a long sip from a bottle and passed it to Fenris. They sat in a small shadowy alcove in the wall of one of the mansions that surrounded the square and tasted wines from different countries. The festival was at its height in front of them, bright, loud and carefree.

"A mage," Hawke explained, still not looking at him. "It's the only feature we are judged and labeled for. The moment it's discovered, everything else doesn't matter."

Fenris jerked up his head, but she met his eyes before he could say anything.

"Not just you, everyone, you're just honestly hostile. But in fact everyone has their own image of what mages are like and they try to get us all into that box. Like it's our defining feature, like there's nothing more to see. But we're just people, all different, with our own personalities, dreams, goals and feelings. Magic expresses us, not defines."

_Tell it to your possessed healer, who can talk only about how he's an oppressed mage._

But even if he still thought that "getting to know a mage before judging him" was suicidal behavior, he owed her an explanation, because she really  _was_  an exception.

"In the Imperium, magisters are declaring it as a defining feature. Magic is a trait that separates "higher beings" from common people, it's a reason they were "destined" to rule, an excuse to treat everyone else like dirt… and animals. "

He felt how his voice treacherously quavered and felt silent. Hawke bit her lip and said softly, "But you're not in Tevinter anymore. Here it's a shame and puts pressure on us. Blind hostility doesn't protect people against mages; it pushes innocents to the edge. It's bad enough that we have to constantly control ourselves, but when a mage gets only fear and disgust for all his life, he doesn't have a motivation to resist demons. Do you know how many mages actually hate their gift and pray to lose it?"

"Not you, though," he stated flatly.

"Now I've accepted it, yes. But there were times when I dreamed to be deprived of it."

He stared at her, too surprised to find words.

"It's a life sentence," she repeated. "We don't choose who we want to be. It's always just " _mage_ ".

"You are the only mage I regret being hostile with. Every other proved that he deserved this treatment," Fenris said stubbornly. "I do admit that all mages are different, but almost always it just means different kinds of threat."

She sighed tiredly and shook her head, looking away. Her stubborn belief in the presumption of innocence was a cornerstone in their arguments. How often he wanted to yell and shake her until that foolish kind-hearted girl would understand that weaklings should be secured before they have even a small chance to become monsters. You can't just hope that their good side will win; it never does. But he realized that without so strong a faith in people she wouldn't bother to try helping him. So he hated and was grateful for it at the same time, and it was just maddening.

"Are you saying that you'd choose another life, if you could?" he asked incredulously. She always looked so satisfied with her life; he couldn't imagine her being anything other than a free mercenary. This way she can choose her contracts, help people and apply all her talents at once: magic, leadership, courage, creativity.

But she hesitated, still not looking at him, and waved her hand. "You'll think it's stupid…"

He raised his eyebrows expectedly, "Try me."

She sighed and finally glanced at him.

"Well, there isn't an actual word for this job, but the closest I think would be "traveling performer"

The elf stared at her in disbelief and she started explaining with passion, gesticulating vividly.

"Like a storyteller, but with magic I could not only tell, but also show. I could make legends came alive: dragons made of fire, icy mountains, castles of fog, thunderstorms… Well, those are pretty obvious, but actually combining different elements I could make neat tricks like a Revenant made of black dust and with hellish fire in his eyes! I have few dances for my favorite songs plotted down to each line, all battles and wonders, all heroes and beasts! I'd wish to travel, see new places and give people those old beautiful legends and fairytales in colors, to remind them of miracles and great deeds, to bring a spark of childish excitement in their routines, to make them dream... Of course it would be much less profitable, nobly or prestigious, but I'd choose it in a heartbeat if I could."

She finally halted, threw him an embarrassed look and blushed slightly.

"See, told you it's stupid."

For few moments he could just stare at her and clench his fist as tightly as possible to stop himself from reaching for her gently blushing cheek – to make sure she was real.

"It certainly would be a spectacular sight," he said, trying to make his grave voice sound as soft as he could. "Even without plot your dance with fire was breathtaking."

"Really?" Her eyes widened and she smiled warily "You remember...?"

_I've seen it in my dreams so many times that the Chantry would find it indecent._

"Of course I remember," he said quietly and for a few moments there was an awkward silence between them.

"And who you would want to be?" She asked suddenly with a curious smile.

"Me?" he repeated, staring at her blankly.

"Yeah! I mean, it's perfectly fine if you're satisfied with a job of mercenary fighter, but maybe there is something else?"

He blinked few times, trying to collect his thoughts, and took a sip from the bottle to buy a little more time.

"I don't know," Fenris said finally with a shrug. "I've never thought of it."

At first he was a slave and dreamed of nothing more, and then he turned into prey on the run and all he wanted was to survive and not become a slave again. He never had the luxury of something more. And… it was too late already.

"Why not?" she took a bottle from him, finished it and reached for the next. "You're very smart and quick at learning, you have an obvious gift for languages; in fact, you could be anything you want."

Disconcerted, he turned away, hiding his eyes under the strand of hair.

_You're just as beautiful as your dreams, but I have only my fears._

"You're just being kind," He said finally and Hawke huffed.

"Phuh! No, I'm not." She sighed. "Listen, I understand it's difficult for you… Just promise me; next time you'll find something interesting for you, you won't give up on it just because "it's too late", "it's not for me" and your other bullshit. Just think about it."

She offered him the bottle, still searching for his eyes, and he took it with a short nervous smirk.

"Fine. By the way, I can tell that you're trying to get me drunk."

"It's not like I tried to hide it." She grinned wickedly and he crooked his eyebrow at her.

"Oh, don't worry, I don't plan anything indecent."

_What a pity._

"And you're not afraid of getting too drunk yourself, since you have had roughly as much wine as me?"

"Nagh, you see, I have a useful trait. Even shitfaced drunk, I act generally as normally. Maybe my jokes get stupid, but its not really a big deal or difference. And when I'm over the edge, I just crawl into some safe place, fall asleep and then even StoneFist in the face can't wake me up. So I don't have to worry about embarrassing myself greatly."

"We shall see," the elf said, smirking, and stood up. "Well, let's go win you some pretty things in unfair competitions."

"Yay!"

* * *

We found a piece of black fabric with stars that we used as a tablecloth, a glass ball with white turbidity within, a few candles and perched ourselves near the fountain at the festival's square. I was telling fortunes by cards and runes – few stones with meaningless signs that we invented on the spot, and Fenris randomly growled at customers short phrases in Tevinter or Qun. I "interpreted" his words and secretly wished I could understand what he really says. He stood very still and his intoxication was shown only in short smirks to me.

In between visitors Fenris would sit down with me and we would drink and laugh at how easily people believe any nonsense. Every time I caught his short drunk grins, which looked so unfamiliarly boyish, it suddenly seemed that the bright day was cloudy before this moment. I was glad that I managed to involve him in some sort of prank, even if all his contribution consisted in just standing there. He refused to talk about his youth, and I didn't press it, but I doubt he had a joyful childhood full of funny games and light-hearted mischief. In fact, by the way he behaves, I'd say he didn't have any childhood at all.

And then I saw the templar, and he clearly headed for us. I swallowed and tensed, Fenris frowned and casually readjusted his sword. I stifled an idiotic urge to hide behind his back and tried to look calm. I fooled the Knight-Lieutenant, I wouldn't be caught at so stupid a thing…

The templar, young and ruffled, came up, looked over our stuff and smiled smarmily

"Hello. Can I get… advice here?"

_What? Really? Gee!_

"Of course, Ser Templar! What would you like to know?"

"Well, there is one girl…" He started shyly, but then asked with hesitating suspicion "Ahem, but it's not magic, right?"

Fenris growled something that most likely meant "Of course it is, you fool" and I smiled with endless honesty

"Sure! Have you seen anything like this in your Gallows, kind Ser?" I pointed at our junk and the Templar frowned for a second, then shook his head

"Well, no… They use only staffs and wands… and books…"

"Exactly! Unholy things! My divinations are almost the Maker's own… advice. "

When he walked away, happy and reassured with my optimistic prophecies, I whistled nervously and looked up at the elf.

"What a fool." Fenris muttered, shaking his head in disbelief "It is a wonder they manage to catch anyone at all."

"What did you expect? They accepted Carver." I smiled widely "Hey, you know, with his coins we have enough money to buy another bottle of that Antivan brandy. How does it sound?"

"Good. We were asked for the truth and we shall seek it. In vino veritas, ergo bibamus."

"I love how you magniloquent when you're drunk."

* * *

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Varric settled back into his chair and closed his fingers "A real scandal. A drunk noblewoman was found in the indecent embrace with her elven companion on the steps of her own estate. "

He grinned widely and shamelessly, examining the couple at the other side of his table. Hawke and Fenris, both ruffled, angry and obviously at the end of their temper, stared at him: the elf with narrowed eyes like at the target, and the mage – faking indifference, but with flaring nostrils.

"Preposterous," Fenris snarled.

"Blargh!" Hawke gulped at the same time.

Of course they denied everything. But Hawke had a subtle pattern that resembled the decor of the elf's shoulder-pads at her cheek, and Fenris, still as hunched over as ever, had one shoulder more askew as if it stiffened from keeping too long in one position.

_Kids, it doesn't take a spy net to figure you out._

"We were… caught in conversation, but accidently fell asleep in the middle of it, because, well, I suppose, we  _did_  have a little too much wine. That is all the explanation that you're going to get." Hawke said firmly, her tone menacing, overpowering and cold like a frozen ogre.

So he walked her home, but of course they didn't want to part with each other, and they just sat on the threshold, talking until she dozed into sleep at his shoulder, and he was afraid to disturb her.

_You cute procrastinating motherfuckers._

"Some rumors say that you didn't have all of your clothes… Was it interfering with your conversation?" Varric teased. He knew it was a lie, but he still enjoyed the rare occasion when he could so easily embarrass the both of them.

"I've had enough of this nonsense." Fenris finally snapped, sprang up and almost threw the chair away.

"Yeah, it seems it's just not worth it all." Hawke drawled with noble arrogance, standing up pointedly calmly.

_Oh, Hawke let someone make a point and follows him and it doesn't even have anything to do with qunari? That's something new._

"Wait, wait, wait," Varric held up his hands, smiling, when they've already turned to the door. "Easy, guys. Why so serious, if it's not a big deal?"

They exchanged quick glances and stopped in their tracks, turning to the dwarf with expectantly raised eyebrows. Varric sighed, took two purses with Amell's emblems from his table and threw them to the couple. The elf caught it and handled one to Hawke; both were pointedly careful to not touch each other. Varric didn't care to hide a smirk.

Hawke straightened up, glared at the dwarf and said through the gritted teeth

"And if there's any stupid rumors in town…"

"Yeah, I'm going to get a fireball into the hole in my chest, I got it. Just remember next time to have your  _conversations_  somewhere without provoking pickpockets. "

They threw at him final, twin burning glares and walked through the door.

_Isn't three damn years enough time for you to admit that you're attracted to each other? I think I'll have to do something about it, while just one of them was white-haired._

_Huh, it's going to be the first time I'm doing something to lose my own bet._


	11. Every little thing she does is magic

**Do I have to tell the story Of a thousand rainy days since we first met**

"So, Daisy and I are going up the hills to find that flower of hers…" Varric said a bit breathlessly, stomping at the embers of their little campfire. This morning they tracked down and cleaned out the lair of blood mages. Hawke made a habit of taking the dalish on every job where blood magic was involved to show examples of where it could lead. A good intention, but Fenris doubted it would work. The witch couldn't learn from even her own experience, let alone someone else's.

"Embrium!"Merrill explained enthusiastically. "I remember a recipe of a great potion from the Keeper's lessons and I wanted to look for that ingredient while we're at the coast."

So she was a dalish and had specific training, and Varric had only common sense, but if Fenris had to bet, he'd place his money on the dwarf.

"Yeah, so, anyone wants to join us?" Varric asked, still fighting with embers, which were seemingly dying out under his feet just to spark up again nearby.

"The dalish needs the supervision of the city dwarf to not vanish in the wilds. Never mind the lost history,  _this_  is the true downfall of the elven race," Fenris mused lazily, and Hawke tried to kick him.

"You're not in the mood for exploring your elven heritage, I take it?" Varric confirmed sarcastically, for a second lifting his gaze from the ground, and Fenris shrugged.

"It's not my kind of frolicking."

The dwarf didn't answer, too caught up in hunting a little spark that was dancing around his boots like an insolent cockroach. The elf sighed and drawled reproachfully, "Hawke."

She made a face at him, but Varric finally looked up at her with indignation, "Hawke?"

"Sorry, Varric, sorry," she held up her hands, chuckling, "But you don't see me molesting locks with my toothpick, right? So leave flames to the fire mage."

The dwarf huffed and stepped away from the embers, folding his arms and gazing at the mage.

"Fair enough. So, you gonna go with us, Hawke?"

"I'm not exactly a "picking flowers and singing with the birds" type of girl. I think I'm out," The mage smiled apologetically.

"But embrium is very pretty! And red!" Merrill declared in her last attempt to persuade the other mage.

"Hey! Exactly who do you think I am, guys! I don't go for just anything red and pretty, I'm not that shallow!" Hawke said with exaggerated offense, but then smiled mischievously, "It also has to have something to do with fire, hawks or dogs!"

Varric sighed and shrugged, "All right then, you kids stay here; and if you're not fighting about magic when we return, I'll give you cookies."

"Phuh! If you'll manage to actually find this weed and return, I'll give you the medal of a honorary ranger!"

After Varric and Merrill left, Hawke threw a stick for her mabari and then chased him across the beach to get it back. The elf took off his gauntlets and his chestplate – lately he was practicing in maintaining his confidence without any crutches, – and sat down, leaning against the cliffs and facing the sea. It was a very bright summer day, almost as hot as, say, late spring in Tevinter, whitecaps were softly and mesmerizingly reflecting the sunshine, and Hawke's laugh overlapped the annoying screams of the seagulls. Enveloped in a rare feeling of quiet warmth, Fenris let himself doze off.

He woke up immediately when he sensed someone nearby, but he didn't move, because he knew it was Hawke. He knew her footsteps and her unique scent – an elusive aroma of herbal soap, mixed with a soft note of the heated wood of her staff, which was used to evoke fire so often that it was never getting cold. She must've got tired of running and returned to catch her breath.

And then he felt how her fingertips gently brushed a strand of hair off his forehead. One part of him, an old memory of agony and fear, demanded he immediately shriek away, other, which sometimes was bringing him dreams that weren't nightmares, wanted to catch her hand and pull her closer; but mostly he was just stunned like in that day in the Deep Roads when she healed him. He felt how she softly stroked his skin, light touches at his cheekbones, jaw, above his brows, and he barely breathed to not scare it away, because it was the closest thing to sincere, a non-humiliating caress that he received in his life. And if before he thought that it was ruined for him, that everyone could have it, but not him, and he just accepted it as a price of freedom; then now it suddenly became so painfully unfair that he'll never be able to be close with someone, that those brief stolen moments are everything that he'll ever have, and…

And then he finally realized that there was some sort of dust on her fingers. Tension, which fastened his heartbeat a second ago, turned into a bitter lump in his throat.

_It's just another prank that she's doing out of boredom. How pathetic you should be to mistake a joke for tenderness? She fell asleep at your shoulder, because you're more comfortable that the nearest pillar, and she regretted it so much that she couldn't look at you when she woke up. Vishante, you so foolishly want to believe that it's not too late for you, that you're ready to take anything that is not open contempt as a sign of affection._

He opened his eyes and for a split moment caught her expression: focused, with an absent half-smile dancing on her lips, but then she met his gaze and backed away in fear. He sprung up abruptly and strode across the beach in direction of the sea without a word.

"Fenris! Ugh, wait!"

_No. Just leave me. Don't make me yell at you, so I will hate myself even more later._

"Fenris! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

He couldn't even bring himself to shout at her. After all, his deficiencies were not her problem or fault.

_Just leave me alone._

He's a ruin, a wrecked and burned out carcass, so deformed that it's impossible to tell what it was supposed to be before it was destroyed, and it's not a place for a bright bird with cheerful songs. Can't you see that I'm too poisoned with…

Suddenly Hawke outpaced him, blocked his way and poured out the cap of ashes on herself.

"Look, I didn't want to offend you," she said, blinking and coughing, "I thought after years of knowing me, you would understand that it's just a friendly prank, for fun, not meant to humiliate…"

"I didn't take it as an insult," he told her softly.

"You wha…" she shook her head, "But you glared at me with that tortured look and stormed away without a word!"

"After years of knowing me, you could've notice that remaining silent at the sight of something I find offensive is not one of my habits."

"Well, yeah, you're more about flipping your shit before any reasoning, but… Are you telling me that you just woke up and was like 'What time is it? Brooding time! And oh my, I'm already late!'?"

"Something like that," he couldn't hide a smile, passing by her and stepping into the sea waves that softly licked the sand.

"You're bloody impossible, ugh," she came up to him, sighing, "Wait, at least take a look at my masterpiece. Obviously, you didn't give me time to finish it, but there are still things to marvel at!"

Fenris examined his reflection with narrowed eyes.

"Well, there appears to be worms crawling out of my nose."

"What? No! It's a  _moustache_!"

"And there are… needles and some sort of twisted hooks sticking out of my jaw?"

"It's a beard! I just couldn't decide if it should be curly or not."

"And apparently I have a black eye."

"No, then it would be filled with black, right?"

He looked skeptically at the circle around his right eye, with six straight lines outside, which were pointed at its center. Meanwhile Hawke sat down and started washing off the ash.

"It doesn't make sense. You're just buying time to wash yourself and make me stand there like a fool until the others return."

"Give up now and you'll never know the truth."

"I think I can live with that," he retorted, squatting down next to her. She stuck out her tongue and lazily splashed water at him. When she did it for the third time, he said curtly.

"Stop it."

"Or what? You're gonna  _brood_  at me again? It won't work two times in one day, pal." She chuckled and splashed water again. He pointedly ignored the salty drops, cleared the last strokes of ash from his jaw, then smacked his palm to the sea surface and, with all the strength he could muster, moved his arm in wide half-circle directed at Hawke. It caused not just few drops, but a whole wave that doused the mage from head to toe.

"You son of an oyster!" Hawke sprung up, shaking her head, with wet hair plastered over her face and knee-deep in the sea. The next second a wall of water Fenris's full height rose up in front of him.

Apparently she failed to realize that someone, whose fighting style consists in striking an enemy before it can attack, won't try to back off and cover himself up. On pure combat reflex, the elf charged through the water barrier without a moment of hesitation.

"Maker's crap!" Hawke's eyes rounded, she turned and ran away, leaving risen waves to block the path behind her. He ran after her on bare instinct –  _you can't seriously think about challenging_ me _with those_ magic _tricks –_ if he actually thought about what he was doing for at least a second, he'd undoubtedly stop. In the heat of the moment there wasn't any time, so when he caught her – partly because it seemed as a logical conclusion of chasing and partly because she tripped over the hem of her own robes and started falling down – he had not the slightest idea what he was supposed to do next. Hawke immediately raised a whirlpool around them, so Fenris was just busy keeping both his balance under the attacks of slashing waves and a kicking, hissing mess of sharp elbows and knees in his arms.

"Let me go or I'll bite you, I swear, on…"

"Ahem."

Abruptly both the mage and waves around them calmed down, and Fenris saw Varric and Merrill standing on the beach. It took him another second to realize that he's clasping a heavily panting Hawke in his arms and actually feel her – how she's leaning against him, the heat of her body through the damp clothes, how her back is arched under the pressure of his palm, her fingers digging into his shoulder, and how many bruises he's going to have after all of this. Their eyes met – her face was so close that he could see sunshine gleaming through the waterdrops on her lashes and feel her warm ragged breath from her slightly parted lips – and they immediately jumped away from each other as if a fireball just exploded between them.

"Are we interrupting something? Just say the word and we'll search for pretty flowers for a bit longer. Or we can just go back to Kirkwall by ourselves and leave you to your… Ouch! Hawke, at least restrain the lightning if you can't restrain your… Hey, seriously, stop it! Tell her, elf! It's terror by magic; you should scowl at her, not at me!"

* * *

"Daisy, you're about to witness the art of exploiting knowledge."

"Oh, how exciting! Can I tell Aveline about it? She always wonders what exactly you do."

"No, I'm afraid you can't tell anyone. I trust you, but a businessman has to keep his methods secret."

"Of course, I understand! Oh, is there going to be something dirty?"

Merrill liked to try finding those things in conversations with Carver. Even though he claimed there was nothing hidden, she was sure there  _was_  something dirty, because the others smirked and Carver blushed. Now as he was a templar, she missed those conversations.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Try to recognize it," Varric winked at her and sped up, trying to catch up with Hawke. It wasn't easy, because she walked fast when she was angry, but she still managed to keep that swaying in her walk. Not like Isabela though, who rather swaggered, resembling the wide rocking of the sea. Hawke moved in light, springy steps, as if in any second she would start dancing or jump up and fly into the sky. When Merrill tried to duplicate something like that, she just tripped over her own feet. Isabela said it was something that should come naturally, like a lover or a burglar. But sadly neither lovers nor burglars seem to be interested in coming into her little hovel in the alienage. Perhaps it was the dirt?

Merrill just felt a little envious sometimes. Of course, it's easy for Hawke to judge her. If she could be so confident, cunning and charming, she wouldn't need blood magic or the help of spirits. Hawke seemed to always know what to do next and how to solve any problem. Even now, ruffled and in t wet robes, she still was so dignified, sure of herself and eye-catching. Water turned her hair into a beautiful mess of unruly curls, and from time to time Hawke would drive her fingers through them, shake and toss them up, trying to get it dried faster. At those moments the sunshine glinted through her hair, creating elusive patterns of light between silky black locks. If Merrill tried to do that, she'd just end up with her hair bristling up in spikes or covering her eyes, so she'd trip and fall down.

At this time Varric caught up with Hawke and grinned at her shamelessly, "So, helping our elf to explore his cultural heritage, eh? Hands down, you got the guy frolicking."

"Shut up or I'll set your chest hair on fire," Hawke muttered coldly.

"Hey,  _rude,_ " the dwarf chuckled, "But well, if you don't want to discuss it, don't worry, I can find another audience. Isabela adores stories about wet frocks."

 _That_  had to be a dirty part, because Hawke started and waved her hands in protest. But what exactly could it mean…?

"Jeez, no! No, you can't! She'll never let me live it down!"

"But I'd bet she'd pay me a whole sovereign for this story. I'm a dwarf, how can I resist gold?"

"Oh, you petty blackmailing…" with an irritated growl, Hawke bent over to shake off road dust from the wet hem of her robes, and suddenly Merrill understood what was dirty about wet frocks.

"Fine," Hawke straightened up and took a sovereign from her purse. "Now leave me alone to wail at the baseness of my friends, if you please."

"Sure," Varric agreed cheerfully and returned to Merril, whistling.

"Varric, I got the dirty part! It was about wet frocks, right?"

The dwarf sized her up from under raised eyebrow with a surprised look. "What is it, Daisy, have you grown up already?"

Merrill beamed at him, "It's dirty, because when her robes are wet, there is much more dust that clings to it and it's way harder to clean it!"

Varric stared at her for a few moments with an expression of mixed relief and patronizing pity, and Merrill realized that she missed again.

"Aw, you were so close this time, Daisy! But don't get upset yet, you can still try your luck when I poke at Fenris. It'll be even more obvious," he chuckled.

When the dwarf went and spoke to the elf behind Merril's back, it was in low, conspiratorial tone, apparently so Hawke couldn't hear.

"So, as a former slave, just squatting in stolen luxury, you'll get a discount. Only fifty silvers from you."

"I'm not paying you. There has already been a sovereign spent more than your blackmailing deserves, and besides, I couldn't care less what Isabela thinks."

"Hey now! I am an honest businessman, I don't sell the same chamber pot to two different people. Unless they're married."

"You don't make any sense. Even less than usual, if I need to specify."

"I know you don't care what  _Isabela_  thinks, Ser Tightypants. No, you're going to pay me so I don't call Hawke right now. Because you know what she'll say if she turns to us? "Is it a spare greatsword in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

That must be something, because Fenris is never happy and now he seems to be especially cranky. Hmm, but they had looted a greatsword in the blood mages' cavern, and Fenris was carrying it now, so he  _did_  have a spare pocket on his belt are too small to fit it, so what it was that all about?

After a few moments there were Fenris's irritated grunt and clinking of coins.

"Heh. By the way, dwarven belching contests."

"What?"

"They do it in Orzamar. I heard, to pass a qualifying round you need to drown out a warhorn."

"Is it your trademark gesture – to tell a man you just robbed some senseless and preferably disgusting story?"

"I figured you need some  _distraction_ , and by my experience, disgusting works the best in those cases."

"Don't you have someone else around to pester? Even if you've already blackmailed the witch, you can try to wrangle some bones out of Hawke's mabari."

"I think I had enough of barking from you already. And undeservedly so! You both could've saved your money, if you weren't so stubbornly blind."

"There is nothing to see."

"There is at the very least Hawke's insults to look at."

"You don't have them. I didn't let you copy them."

"Oh please, you're wounding me. I'm a storyteller and professional information broker, you think I can't memorize a few phrases long enough to write them down?"

"It's… It doesn't matter."

"I'll let you see them for free."

"I don't need to."

"You know where to find me, elf."

At this point Merrill finally had a theory and was excited to tell it to Varric. When he once tried to explain sarcasm to her, he told her that the speaker actually means the opposite of what he says and implies something that the receiver of the joke doesn't want to acknowledge. So Varric's phrase can be translated as "Fenris is angry, and he doesn't have a spare greatsword in his pocket and he doesn't want Hawke to know about it." But why? That was the hardest part of the mystery, but Merrill managed to crack it open. Apparently Fenris doesn't want Hawke to find out that the greatsword isn't in his pocket, because he lost it! And Hawke gets very angry and grumpy when you lose something she was going to sell. She glares at you and everyone around and curses with the deeply intimate features of human gods, so you feel like even Andraste's wart is judging you right now. No wonder that Fenris doesn't want her to find out.

_But Elgar'nan, does Hawke look great when her clothes get slinky and outlines all of her curves like now._ _Those swaying hips!_

* * *

_**It was a typical day. Killed some blood mages, found and sold some stuff, nothing special. The weather was great.** _

/

_Surely there was more exciting stuff to document than just the weather, right, Hawke?_

_By the way, did you like your cookies?_

/

_Oh? Did I miss something interesting?_

/

_**Yes, Isabela, you missed a lot of abominations, stinky soggy caverns and Fenris's nostalgic lecture about how in Tevinter you can at least kill blood mages in comfortable surroundings.** _

_**Varric, stop telling nonsense. Which cookies?** _

/

_Cookies that you've earned for maintaining friendly behavior with the elf. I left them on your table right next to this journal._

/

Oh, I'm sorry, Hawke. I ate those cookies. They just looked so cute and sweet: heart-shaped, with this delicious pink icing; I couldn't resist. I'm sure Varric can get more for you, right, Varric? They're really, really tasty. You can't find anything even remotely as good in the Alienage.

/

_**Merrill? What in the name of Andraste's glorious fluffy mittens did you forget in my journal?** _

/

Um, I just… Oh, fine. I was hoping to find, you know, some dirty spells. I tried to look for them in Anders' books, but didn't find anything and he caught me. And I thought that you should know something like this for sure and that probably you'd write it in your personal journal. But it turned out that your diary is just so funny and interesting, and everyone is bickering there, it's like a private party! So I keep coming to check for new updates.

/

_**Oh, you people just… I can't even… Ugh.** _

_**Dirty spells? Like what, Grease?** _

/

_Obviously, like Walking Sex-Bomb and Glyph of Seduction, Hawke. You keep bitching about how Merrill should stop doing blood magic, but you never offered her any exciting alternatives. That's not fair. You should support her positive initiative!_

_That's my girl, Kitten!_

/

_**Hasn't your Keeper given you Sexual Education for Mages lesson? I thought you dalish know some kinky mysteries of the ancient Arlathan and stuff.** _

_**But alright, you better ask me than Desire Demon. The most common delusion is that you need "special" spells. While they do exist, their incompetent use can result in real disaster. So, especially for beginners, it's better to stick to basic spells that you're confident with and adjust them for current situation. So, Creation school is the most useful, Primal and Elemental can spice things up, and Force magic is for extreme fun, but you need to really know what you're doing. For a start, Rejuvenate can help to get at least a satisfying experience out of even the most pathetic cases. But if you need to cast it quicker than your mana fully regenerates, ditch the guy, he's not worth it.** _

/

_You need to write a brochure on the subject, Hawke. Name it "Make love, not oppression" and distribute it with Anders's manifestos. That would bring a huge inflow of supporters for the mage's cause._

/

_I bet the Blooming Rose would gladly sponsor it. I can talk with Madame Lusine for you. But I think you should name it "Better than Desire Demon". It will catch even more attention!_

/

_**Shut up or I'll write a book "Vigilante Willy-Nilly or How I started my collection of the severed heads of rogues".** _

* * *

"Do your markings give you power to stare through the solid objects as well as to punch through them? You've been glaring at me the whole evening as if you want to read Hawke's notes directly from my head."

When Fenris showed up for their usual card game, he walked up to Varric's table, took pink cookies from his belt's pocket, clenched his fist and, looking straight into dwarf's eyes, then threw the crumbles into Varric's ale. Then he sat at his usual place and proceeded to glare at the rogue, until Varric started to feel a heavy uncomfortable pressure that reminded him of one time in his youth when he tried a helmet and decided to never wear one of those things again.

_How does Hawke put up with it? Oh, right, she can heal headaches._

"I need some time. There is a lot of nonsense to get through."

"Andraste's ass, elf! Just read it already!" Varric got a small journal from his table, opened it to the right page and slid it across the desk to Fenris. "Usually I can read a whole set of your cards directly from your forehead, but today you're leading two sovereigns on me. I can't let it go on like this."

"What is this?" Fenris asked, eyeing the journal suspiciously.

"Just a notebook, where I keep my drafts, unfinished ideas, quotes that don't suit my current stories, but too good to lose. Stuff like that."

The elf sighed, finally picked up the journal, but stood up and started pacing before he even looked at the page. By the way he stumbled from time to time, Varric knew that Fenris didn't read everything at once, but had to pause after every line, re-read it a few times to wrap his head around it, and only then move to the next phrase. It wasn't surprising, since the elf seemed to be the only one who actually believed all that bullshit Hawke threw at him was genuine. Like, "I swear, I'm gonna spellbind and lure all of Kirkwall seagulls into your mansion, so they'll scream all the time, crap all over the place and throw stinky half-eaten fish at your bed!"

First stumble; slightly widened, then narrowed eyes. What was there? Ah, yes.

_**A fool who takes sympathy as pity.** _

"And sure, I write down Hawke's gems, when she wastes them on someone, who isn't worth an actual story," Varric realized that Fenris pays him no attention, and kept talking primary to avoid an awkward tense silence.

Second stumble; crooked eyebrow, pressed up lips.

_**The most adorable jerk I've ever met.** _

"Like remember that one time, when some gang was so stupid that they tried to ambush us, and their leader said to Hawke "So, damsel, it seems you are in distress". And Hawke laughed and answered "Sorry, buddy, you don't get it. I  _am_  distress, and I'm gonna damsel you all over the place."

Next stumble; raised eyebrows.

_**Moody bundle of explosive sunshine.** _

"And I write down what really happened, but I can't tell about it, because people don't want to hear about heroes being idiots. And yes, it applies to almost all of your bickering. Remember how Hawke lied to a bandit that his storehouse was on fire and Merrill ruined her bluff? But then Hawke actually set the storehouse on fire and the bandits ran off to put it out. But we couldn't use this advantage, because you two fought about the irresponsible use of magic until the bandits returned. And I was happy that they returned, because at least you shut up!"

Another stumble; widened eyes, slightly parted lips.

_**A gem in the armor of his own solitude. Grumpy solitude, mind you.** _

"You made it up," Fenris said hoarsely, shut the journal and laid it on the table.

"Wanna bet? Show it to her, and after she blushes, you'll owe me a sovereign. Besides, that cheesy sarcasm is so not my style."

"I… need to think about it," The elf muttered tensely and strode out of the room.

_Do I need to hit you on the head with a giant sign that says "Go for it"?_

* * *

_Shit, shit, shit_. Why is it always me who gets fucked up by life in the most unpredictable ways?  _Shit._ Why I can't have a nice, pleasant surprise for once?  _Shit._

What do I do now?  _Shiiit!_

Can I just flee the city? Oh no, mother enjoys our estate so much, I can't drag her out like that.  _Shit._

Maybe I can just hide in Darktown?..

"So the seneschal's tax collector won't be coming around again, like you asked. Funny story," Isabela's voice made me freeze on the last step of the stairway.  _Oh, shit, not right now!_

"I'll pass, but thank you for the help."

"Spoilsport. Why you want to squat up here in Hightown is beyond me."

Well, at least there is no moaning or screaming and the door is open, so it seems they're just talking. I cautiously walked up to the doorway. Usually I wouldn't interrupt, but now I had a really pressing matter and Fenris was the only one who could consult me on this.

"I like the view."

The elf was sitting in his favorite armchair and Isabela stood in front of him, taking her time to methodically undress him with her gaze up and down.

"So do I," she purred with a wolfish grin, staring pointedly at his crotch in case there were left some Spirits of Subtlety who hadn't yet died in agony in a ten miles radius in the Fade. Then she turned and slowly swaggered past me, giving me a wink.

_Sure, it's none of my business, but really, Izzy, you've been bluntly hitting on the guy for the last three years. I'm sure he's got the idea by now._

I waited until she left the room, then caught Fenris's eyes and threw my hands up.

"The Arishok requested me!"

"I'm… sorry?" he frowned at me with confusion.

"Yes! It's everything that our incompetent parody of a Viscount could tell me!" I dropped in the chair across the table and continued ranting.

"The Arishok requested to see me  _specifically_. And the Viscount clearly isn't going to leave me a choice! 'Give him what he needs to keep the peace. Can you do that for Kirkwall, Serah Hawke?" I mimicked Dumar, grimacing. "What has Kirkwall did for me, huh? They didn't want to even let me in, when I escaped the Blight just to have my family starve at the city's closed gates! They forced me into the Deep Roads expedition! They had me pay the full price of the estate that is rightfully mine! But oh, now, when I'm finally rich and independent, they want me to feed myself to the qunari, just because they asked so nicely! Kirkwall can kiss my ass for all I care!"

"And you call  _me_  grumpy and explosive," Fenris muttered, shaking his head at me.

I huffed, folding my arms. "You're a bad influence for anyone's temper."

_Wait, have I called him "grumpy" or "explosive" to his face?_

"Anyway, what the fuck does the Arishok want from me? What, had they discovered that three years ago I spat not in the way the Qun demands and now they have to honor it by killing me? Yeah?"

"I believe the case is quite the opposite actually," Fenris rubbed his chin thoughtfully and finally met my eyes.

"Huh?" I stared at him, blinking dumbly.

"If the Arishok wanted you dead, he wouldn't send an official request to see you to the Viscount. He'd send one of his men to plainly kill you. And he wouldn't wait three years for it. You haven't meddled in anything concerning the qunari lately, right?"

"You know I haven't, I'm dragging you everywhere with me. And I tried to keep as far from those guys as possible."

"Qunari usually have little respect for outsiders. You've proven your competence by defeating Tal-Vashoth. You're the most worthy person in this city in the Arishok's eyes now, I'd imagine. Even if there's some suspicion, your word should be enough to dismiss it."

"Whaa?.. Competence? I just stood there stiff, with a stone expression, trying to talk as little as possible!"

Fenris just titled his head to his shoulder with a mild smirk.

"Huh, I guess it really sounds like their own attitude, if you don't actually know me... So what, you really think I should just walk straight up to the compound and act like I don't give a shit, and they'll believe me?"

He sighed, "Look at it from another point: I'm obviously going with you. Would I recommend you going if I thought they were planning to murder us?"

I examined him, chewing on my lip. "Well, I guess… It just really kills me when I'm trying to wrap my head around how those guys think… Like they're dedicated to not make sense in the most stern and inexorable way possible. Um, by the way, thank you. Sorry I kinda dumped all of it at you like this."

The elf shrugged, waving his hand dismissively. Hmm, he's too quiet and not even as half acidic as normal about my Qunariphobia today.

"You seem to be more pensive than aggressively bitter today. Is it the weather or is something actually bugging you?"

"Three years," he sighed, turning aside. "There's still no sign of Danarius. I'm beginning to wonder if he's finally given up."

I quirked my eyebrow, "Don't tell me you're going to miss all the attention."

That finally wrung a short smile from Fenris, though I knew him well enough to actually understand what bothers him. It's the uncertainty that doesn't let him take a full breath.

"Tell me: what do you do when you stop running?" he asked, looking up at me again.

_Whoa, heading for the hard questions straight away, are we? Does it seem that I know what I'm doing with my life?_

"You take a breath and look around. And start anew," I said with a light sympathetic smile.

"I don't know how," he leaned forward and his gaze focused on me, suddenly filling with intense determination. It always makes me nervous. "My first memory is receiving these markings, the lyrium being branded into my flesh. The agony wiped away everything. Whatever life I had before I became a slave… it's lost."

He abruptly stood up, taking a step aside, as if he was about to start pacing, but stopped himself. "I shouldn't trouble you with this. My problems are not yours."

I just sat there, staring at him with a distorted face, because my eyes attempted to narrow and round simultaneously.

_Are you kidding me?_

It was three years, three damn years, and you're only telling me this now? You were perfectly fine with telling me that your master made you wear the collar and prop the furniture, but you didn't think that  _this_  could be important? And in fact explain half of your weirdness, why you're so socially inept and afraid of changes and new things; and also help me to avoid all those stupidly awkward situations where I assume that you know how normal interactions work, but you don't, so you flip your shit? I mean, really?

"You don't know who you were?" I asked, still staring at him in disbelief.

"Fenris was the name Danarius bestowed upon me, his "little wolf". If I once had another name, or a family… then they were taken from me," he shrugged uneasily, eyeing me with a strange cautious expectation. "But, again, this is not your concern."

Do you really need to rub this polite phrasing in my face? Since when do you have problems with simply telling the  _mage_  to fuck off?

Ugh. And I thought we were somewhat friends. I even thought that maybe… What an idiot I am.

"You could've notice by now that anyone's problems are mine in this city. Apparently even the qunari's," I muttered begrudgingly. Fenris visibly hesitated, even more tense and wary than usually, as if struggling with some decision, and then finally he said slowly.

"Perhaps I don't want to be just anyone."

Huh? What is this? Did he mean what I think he meant, because I kinda can't see what else it could mean?

Maybe this admission of the lost memory is a sign of trust? At this point, I'm not even trying to sort out Fenris's conceptions of weakness, closeness or acceptance. Then possibly his "my problems are not yours" was so accented to make me object, to say that I  _do_  care. Since we argue almost all of the time, could it be an attempt at provoking me to say something nice? Oh dear, I wonder how many times I thought you were maddeningly dense, when in truth you were just endearingly insecure?

This is going to be a royal pain in the ass anyway, but if I don't give it a try, I'm gonna wonder what could be for the rest of my life.

"That shouldn't concern you. You're very special already," I smiled teasingly, and a responsive spark flickered in his eyes for a second, but then he stared at me with a demand again.

"You're a beautiful woman, Hawke. Is there no one else who has your… attention?"

I was so amused how he made me a compliment so matter-of-factly and even managed to put it as "By the way, you're beautiful, is it going to be my new headache?", that I swallowed "Are there any broody babies I should be aware of?" I retort.

"Let's just say you  _outshine_  others."

He knitted his eyebrow at me, but I just grinned.

_I know, I know, but if I'm putting up with your feathery clawed gauntlets, you're going to live with my stupid puns._

"I'm an escaped slave, and an elf, living in a borrowed mansion. None of those things bother you?"

Am I filling a dating application or something? Then maybe you'd put in there some questions that are useful and consider things we actually don't know about each other? Like, "Do you snore?"

"Thank the Maker you told me now! It'd be so awkward to discover on the night of our wedding!" I said acidly, rolling my eyes "Because it's me who can't shut up about how I can't stand escaped elven slaves and how they should be brought from their borrowed mansions to the Circle and locked there for the rest of their lives."

"You have me there," he admitted with a short smirk.

I was going to get up, say "Mail me your other questions, I'll answer on paper" and leave, but lingered to make a face at him, when he offered me a hand. I looked up at him, surprised, and saw his tentative smile lightening up. I couldn't help but grin and squeeze his fingers, standing up. We walked through the door and down the stairs, still hand in hand. And what was really odd is that this descending down the ruined stairs, alone in the rotten mansion with garbage everywhere and the mushrooms growing on the floor somehow felt more grand and stately than any ceremonial entries into luscious noble events that I've gone through lately. Fenris just has that ability to add multiple layers of meaning and importance to even very simple things. Like the way we walked now, silent and not even looking at each other, just with my fingers in his palm, and it's a bit amusing and silly, but at the same time it's a first gesture not hidden under the excuses of fortuity or exigency. And I don't remember him willingly sharing touch with anyone before, well, except for ripping entrails out.

_Wait a minute…_

It took him three years of frequent, almost everyday interaction to get to this. Considering his loss of memory, there is a probability higher than the Viscount's Keep that it's his first attempt at normal relationship. Of course, maybe there were casual trysts, though I doubt it judging by Isabela's frustration, but it's not the same. Now his blunt questioning actually makes sense – he's just completely inexperienced and probably has a very vague idea about what to expect.

 _Oh jeez._ If things between us don't work out, I'm not gonna be ruined. Worst case scenario, I'm getting wasted in the Hanged Man and move on. But Fenris…

Does he even have a conception of moving on for anything at all? Does he need to complicate his already horrifically fucked up emotional problems by a relationship with the hot-tempered stubborn mage with an invasive sense of humor? I  _am_  genuinely interested, but in the "Life is short and you're hot" way, not in the devoted tone of romantic ballads, where the kind heroine "shows the meaning of love" to the bitter hero, "soothes his pain", "heals his scars with tenderness" and stuff like that. Things are obviously not gonna go smoothly, and with my impatience and Fenris's habit to overreact and dramatize it could have a very traumatizing end for him.

So what, let's tell him "Um, you know, Fenris, I changed my mind. I can't see how this is  _not_  gonna mess you up even more than now, so let's not even try. But please don't feel betrayed, mocked or too broken and incapable of relationships and emotional attachments. The problem is me, not you, though not really. I hope we can still be friends." That will be better?

Caught deep in thoughts, I didn't notice how we walked up to the front door of the mansion. There was a moment of awkward silence as we hesitated at the threshold, glancing at each other cautiously. Then he slowly lifted my hand to his face, – I absently noted an elusive tickling sensation when the unruly strand of his hair brushed against my skin, - and kissed it lightly. I blushed – entirely out of surprise of course, one guy gave me a hickey kissing my hand at ab recent ball and I didn't blush. But Fenris noticed and grinned. And I'd bet he was such a heartbreaker before the ritual, because this grin and the way he looked up at me from under half-lowered eyelids were so maddeningly pleased, provokingly smug and just openly predatory that it was impossible to resist.

"You know, some orlesians are so narcissistic than when etiquette forces them to kiss a lady's hand, they kiss their own thumbs."

_Do I sound like Merrill? Damn, now I just need to trip over my feet._

"Perhaps it's for the best," he finally released my hand, but kept that amused grin on. "From what I gather in Hightown, that kind of men tends to wear a rather greasy looking layer of lipstick."

I chuckled briefly, and for a few seconds we just stood there, smiling at each other. Then I kicked myself inwardly and finally stepped through the doorway, "Well, see you soon."

"Always a pleasure."


	12. You're standing next to me

_My body is a cage_ _  
_ _That keeps me_ _  
_ _From dancing with the one I love_ _  
_ _But my mind holds the key_

Fenris opened the Hanged Man's door and while the tavern's dim light, sour smell and drunk gibberish washed over him in a familiar wave of sensations, he scanned the crowd for any sign of slavers. Everything seemed normal - or, more accurately, just customary for this tavern, since "normal" never really described the state of this place. This time there was nothing resembling suspiciously heavily armed men or anyone foreign-looking around, so he already had taken a step inside, when his eyes stumbled upon a familiar silhouette. Hawke sat at one of the tables with a man in city guards' armor. She looked agitated and even a little flushed, she was listening with an accented interest to something the man was saying and then exaggeratedly laughed, shaking her head.

Fenris felt the air being kicked out of his lungs as if by a sudden punch in the chest. The first stiflingly hot wave that rushed in his head urged him to throw this guardsman right into the wall. The second bitter sting told him to walk to the table and just look into Hawke's eyes. He was at the third stage, about to leave right now and pretend nothing ever happened, including her fingers in his hand, when the mage looked over the crowd nervously, caught the sight of him and jumped up, beaming and waving her arms.

"Fenris! You're here! Finally _!_ "

_Finally?_

"Heeey! It's me! What, did you walk into a Glyph of Paralysis, get over here!"

The elf walked up to her and slowly sat down in the chair that she pulled enthusiastically from under some unfortunate drunkard at the next table.

"You remember Donnic? The guardsman we – khmm –  _Aveline_ heroically saved from an ambush in the course of her brilliant investigation? And Donnic, this is Fenris, he was with us that night, if you recall."

Both of them regarded each other with long studying looks and cautiously nodded in greeting. The guardsman turned to Hawke and asked skeptically.

"So, it's him you wanted me to meet there?"

"Yeaaaah…" she said with the strained wide smile of an actor who keeps playing their role on a stage that is burning all around them. "You see, I promised to find Fenris a new partner for Diamondback."

Both of them stared at her with identical expressions of mistrustful surprise. She met Donnic's gaze with the same frozen smile and glass-clear eyes, and Fenris felt how under the table her nails frantically dug into his knee. He coughed, put his eyebrows down and made a vague motion somewhere between a shrug and a nod.

"I appreciate variety in a selection of game partners."

The hand over his knee relaxed, but didn't entirely let go, as if expecting more troubles to come.

Fenris breathed out. So obviously Hawke wasn't flirting with this man, but actually arranging some sort of scam. For a second he wondered when his priorities went so wrong, that he considered the mage's fraud involving the city's authorities to be a relief.

"But I told you I play Diamondback only ten minutes ago." Donnic said suspiciously. Hawke's smile had become maniacally cheerful, and Fenris's knee was squeezed and shaken feverishly.

"Well, you know, you just look like the type. There's something about you that just told me you definitely play it…"

"She can be a great judge of character," Fenris said, but couldn't stifle the specification. "If magic is not involved."

Hawke turned to him, rolling her eyes.

"You had to bring it up, yeah? You just couldn't help yourself. How did you even survive the whole day without me to pour out your frustration?"

"It was easy, considering I've encountered the main source of my frustration only a minute ago."

"And really, it's  _my_ judgment that is prejudiced? If I'm a black kettle, then you're the inside of a raven's ear in the darkest hour of night in the coal mines of the Deep Roads... "

"Ah, so you two are together!" Donnic announced suddenly, grinning, and Fenris involuntarily blushed. "Can't mistake an old-married couple's fight for anything. Good, for a moment I thought you tried to set this up as a date."

"Ahahaha," Hawke forced out hysterically and there was terror in her eyes. " _No_. Nope, nonono, nooo..."

"If she hasn't called you "bloody idiot" at least once, she isn't interested," Fenris interrupted her feverish flow of denial and Donnic laughed.

"I see. I'll give you some time then and go refill my mug and get us a deck of cards. Ale for you?.."

The mage raised her eyebrows questioningly at the elf, and when he nodded, said "No, ask Corf to get "Dragon's Daughter" from Hawke's reserve."

"And two cups?"

"Nah, we drink from the bottle."

The guardsman grinned again and walked to the bar without asking if they need separate bottles. Hawke followed him with tense gaze, then groaned and hid her face in her palms "I will kill Aveline, I swear!"

"Care to elaborate?"

"Well, let's see. What would you think if someone comes up to you and gives you a copper relief of marigolds with no explanation?"

"That this makes no sense, so probably this thing is enchanted or cursed with blood magic. I would interrogate the one who brought it to me to find his connections with slavers."

"Riiiight… Let's add some context then. Let's say Varric comes up to you a few weeks ago and gives you… hmmm… no, copper full-sized hawk is too delirious… gives you a coin with a hawk engraved on it. What would you think then?"

"That you've probably lost your last grains of sanity and started to mint your own coin, and I apparently should stop you before the Templars track you down?"

"How very caring of you." She huffed and tried to nudge him, but hit the edge of his chestplate with her elbow and hissed painfully. "But back to the marigolds. Their meaning is… and I quote here… "Metal is strong. Copper ages well. Flowers are soft."

Fenris blinked "It's a chain of truthful unrelated statements that doesn't have to do with anything."

"I know, right? I mean, I came to her office as she asked and right away she tells me "Go give this to Donnic and don't ask any questions, it's so important I can trust only you." And of course I was excited! I thought it was "cloaks and daggers" intrigue, that this guy will give me some password or direction to go, that we're hunting a spy or something like that! So I walk up to him and give him this garbage, and of course he's like "What the fuck is this?" And I stare at him and go "Um, I'm sure it's something very meaningful." And we both obviously thought that I'm an idiot, so I just retreated back to Aveline and redirected his question at her. And all she told me was that bullshit about strong metal and soft flowers!"

"I still can't see how strong metal and soft flowers lead you to drinking with him in the Hanged Man." Fenris reminded her softly. He always was secretly pleased that usually overly-confident and witty Hawke, when really distressed and confused, would throw lengthy, unfiltered complaints at him. Before lately, when he wasn't sure if Hawke liked his company at all, he knew that even if he couldn't be pleasant and sociable, at least she valued his direct and honest opinions. It gave him some reassurance, because when people complained about his unbearable sourness and tried to change subjects, as if he could only be tolerated for his unique combat skills or arguably attractive physical appearance, she accepted him as a whole. And maybe he wasn't easy-going and light-hearted as others, but she relied on him when she was thrown off balance or wanted to discuss something seriously.

"Oh, wait for it, we're just getting to the interesting part. Aveline didn't stop there; she made me basically stalk the guy. Like, I should go, do something ridiculous, then watch his reaction and report back to her, she would panic and send me to do something even more ridiculous."

"Aveline?Panic?Unusual, but clearly important."

"Yeah, so I did it for her, because I do stupid shit for friends if they ask me, but then she got to "You'll take three goats and a sheaf of wheat to his mother", and there I said that I draw the line. What? Why are you smirking? Do you realize that I'm not even physically capable of handling three goats and a sheaf of wheat? And if I haven't talked her out of it, you'd be  _so_  going to that goat parade with me."

"Once again we're saved by your eloquence."

Hawke nudged him again, and he shifted to get the metal edge of his chestplate out of the way. She hit his ribs, gulped, and immediately the healing warmth ran soothingly over his side. He waved his hand dismissively to show that it was nothing, so she relaxed and made a face at him.

"So how did you talk her out of it?" Fenris asked, trying to fight a grin.

"Oh, I managed to discover that it's a  _dowry_  tradition."

"A dowry? Then… this isn't about accusations."

"Yeah, it's all apparently Aveline's idea of courtship rituals."

"But she was married, wasn't she?"

"She was! I don't know, maybe her husband made the first move, or maybe she lived in some… community, where you send copper marigolds to a guy and three goats to his parents and the next day you two just meet in the church and get married. She says that now she's so uncomfortable because she's a Captain, and it would look like taking advantage of a subordinate. So I told her to ask him out somewhere neutral."

"Good point. If existing relationship prevents a new one, go somewhere you are equal."

"But of course she's too scared to ask herself, so she made me invite him here. I walk up to him and he's eyeing me suspiciously, like "What does this weird woman want from me now", and I tell him that he should meet  _someone_  this evening at the Hanged Man, wink-wink. And guess what? She chickened out! She didn't show up! Argh! So we just sit there in the most awkward silence imaginable, and Donnic constantly tries to escape, and I don't let him, buying another round of drinks and wishing I knew a spell that can make earth yawn open and swallow me to save from this embarrassment. And on top of everything he obviously started thinking that  _I'm_ interested and… thank the Maker, it was you who showed up!"

He stopped even trying to hide a grin.

"So, what now?"

"Well, just play few rounds with him. Don't worry, I'll compensate your loses."

His smirk vanished when he raised his eyebrow at her.

"Compensate my loses? You assume I will lose?"

"No, it's not what I..."

"Your healer owes me a fortune despite the fact that I try to avoid his presence as much as possible."

"Huh, Anders owes my  _dog_ a fortune, he's really not the biggest challenge. And you know, isn't pretty much all that the guards do is playing cards? There's nothing shameful about losing to the guy if it's his second specialization…"

His pride was stung and Fenris wasn't even sure why, but for some reason the thought of  _her_ giving someone else more credit than him was really irritating.

"If you have such faith that this man procrastinated on his job enough to reach an unbeatable height of card playing, maybe you should put your money on him, because I don't need..."

"Maker's breath, stop! I cannot  _believe_ we are arguing over this! Go ahead, strip the guy of all his money and undergarments, of course I'm rooting for you! I was just saying that if by some tragical glitch in the world's order he manages to win, I'll back you up. "

He huffed and folded his arms, but smirked again.

"Just don't forget that our prior goal is not to ruin this man, but to bring him and Aveline together. So we need to… advertise her."

"How, exactly?"

"Oh, just say nice things about her. But, you know, do it subtly and naturally. Smoothly, so it's not right in the face. Just hints here and there."

At this moment Donnic returned to the table, and Hawke made a smile from ear to ear and said "So, Aveline is great!"

He was a bit uncomfortable at first, having to sit in the crowded place with his back open, but Hawke caught his glance and made them change seats to the table in the corner, claiming that she wanted to play a shadow theatre. Then she confiscated Fenris's left gauntlet on the basis that it's angles poke at her side and also this is "the only chance for this miserable combination of feathers and claws to make any sense" by imitating a shadow griffon. Fenris let her take it without raising any objections, warmed by a familiar wave of awkward gratitude, as always when she covered his insecurities in public by her pretendingly childish whims.

Donnic turned out to be a decent man and a good player, though unfortunately Fenris was too distracted to fully appreciate it. Hawke  _wasn't_ pestering him and somehow now it was a problem. She refused to play cards and instead narrated the adventures of Puffy the Griffon, using mugs, wine bottle, candles and other convenient objects as improvised props. Joyful and mischievous, laughing and trying to keep the elf's gauntlet from slipping off her arm, she brightened everything around her like a flickering candlelight. He could catch faint notes of her smell - herbs and heated wood, and with the tavern's sour and stifling air, the thought of burying his face in the soft ruffled waves of her hair was more than just tempting. He remembered how warm and pliant and wonderful it felt when she fell asleep at his side on the last Satinalia, but then he didn't dare to even press his cheek against her head on his shoulder.

It was frustrating as if on a morose foggy day a ray of sun fell on the spot right next to him and lingered so close that his skin itched for the warmth. But other than in cases of emergency, Hawke always kept the distance he'd himself set, and unfortunately, years of staring contests let them channel just about any message, but not the "I want you in my arms" one. But if one wanted to feel sunshine, they should move under it's rays themselves. It was logical and so simple, and yet Fenris was driven into a hidden helpless rage by his own maddening inability to even put his arm around her shoulders. The dissonance between how much he wanted and how paralyzed he became at the mere thought of actually doing it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Donnic attributed the elf's grim expression to him having shitty cards, bet huge and lost, but Fenris still couldn't manage a smile.

He took a deep breath, raised his arm, panicked and instead covered her hand on the bench between them with his palm. Hawke gazed down in surprise, but then she looked up, smiled brilliantly and laced their fingers together, and suddenly, the tight knot between his collarbones turned into a soft ball of light. He looked away from her hastily, but a wide grin fought it's way onto his face anyway.

Donnic saw his struggles, said "Screw it, you'd gotta have the best hand to beam like that" and folded.

Hawke leaned into Fenris ever so slightly, with the lazy grace of a curious cat checking out his cards, rubbed her thumb against his skin under the table and murmured innocently "Yeah, he's got the best hands, this lucky bastard."

Fenris blushed from his ears' tips down and he wasn't sure it stopped even at the neck. Donnic grinned and shook his head at them.

For some time he just sat quietly, savoring this touch, greedily, almost feverishly trying to capture all the sensations to be able to invoke them later, because it was not going to last. It felt so pleasant, and when anything remotely good happened to him, it was tainted by guilt, shame and fear, or was going to end soon and very badly. It didn't have to be a disaster this time, though, because soon Hawke would break it herself. He didn't even think about it, Hawke was restless, impulsive and switched her attention between things constantly. She'll need to take a sip from the bottle or make a new shadow, and she'll take her hand away without even noticing something so simple and trivial. Resigned, but still tense, he waited and counted the seconds, caught in a distressful rhythm of "Next second, it'll end next second… Oh, it didn't. Then the next second, it's fine, it's nothing, I don't care… It's still there and she's smiling... Then the next second..." Then he noticed how Hawke scratched her nose against her shoulder, and anxiety struck him, making him let go of her, though he couldn't bring himself to move his hand away. She put up with discomfort, but didn't move because he clung to her pathetically, and pity was something he couldn't bear, especially not from her.

She looked up at him, but Fenris pointedly stared at his cards. Then her hand finally moved, but hadn't left. Slender fingers slowly slid up from the base of his palm until her fingertips found his. This gentle movement kicked the breath out of his chest, which usually required at least an Ogre's charge, but had happened already twice this evening.

It was a reenactment of that accident in the Bone Pit Mines, when he caught her wrist and she pressed her palm against his, but he couldn't lace their fingers. An echo of the lost opportunity, a second chance at something he never thought he could have any chance to begin with. He didn't think she remembered it and he was sure up until now it didn't mean anything to her. He bit the inside of his lip and intertwined their fingers, this time without the disguise of an accident, and she squeezed his hand, smiling radiantly.

They sat like that, hand in hand, for the rest of the evening. She trailed patterns on his skin, lighter than a breath, and, for the first time Fenris could remember, his markings simply didn't matter, ignored and over-written by her fingertips. If he hadn't watched her for years, he'd swear she was using blood magic, because his heart's speed and inappropriate blood rashes were entirely too unproportional for such an innocent caress.

Watching her cautiously from the corner of the eye, he slowly drew a circle on her skin with his thumb. Her fingers gave a brief tremble in his hand and her eyelashes fluttered like the wings of an agitated bird. Then her own thumb circled his and she threw a quick, glowingly amber glance at him sideways - a reminder that this bird's wings are made of fire. He suddenly felt drunk, though he barely touched the wine this evening.

Then a strange realization hit him - it was the first time when he actually shared this simple gesture with anyone, just because in all his years of being taken advantage of and going through every imaginable humiliation, nobody ever bothered to demand it from him. He was a piece of flesh made valuable by lyrium under his skin and his excellent combat skills, so why would anyone care to just hold his hand. But she was there, warm and sincere and radiant, as if she was actually enjoying this and not just settling for it because he couldn't offer her more. Fenris always had to fight and claw his way for everything that was trivial for others and the idea of just  _reaching out_  for someone seemed ridiculous in it's improbability. But with her he didn't need to drum feverishly like a fly against the glass to be considered worthy of response, he knew he wouldn't be ignored and even - absolutely an unfathomable concept - he could count on a positive response.

He realized that this intoxicating lightness in his bones was a feeling of safety. Of being able to choose his own pace, not worrying about being used or mocked, and affecting her just as much as he was affected. Of not being an object.

He squeezed her hand gingerly, received a responsive caress of her fingertips alongside his palm and smiled. Donnic cursed and, unintentionally deceived, folded again.

* * *

"So, is Bianca visiting her mother and I can finally spend a night in the enchanted chest hair forest?" Hawke was moving around Varric's room in dancing gait of hers, which she had when she was drunk or amused enough to be distracted from the weight of endless quests on her shoulders.

"Unfortunately, she left it filled with traps."

"Oh, I admire her resourcefulness."

"Hawke, we need to talk," Varric made a necessary dramatic pause "About Athenril."

Hawke stopped in her tracks and the corners of her mouth went down so quickly that it looked like her smile was turned upside down, but she pretended to not get the question "Who?"

_Dear girl, people whose bluff is worse than yours are as rare as lyrium-branded moody elves._

"You know, the one who ambushed us today at the square in front of the Blooming Rose."

"Thugs jump on us all the time. What's so special about this one?"

"Well, first of all, Athenril is not a common thug. She has an established smuggling business and most of the time tries to not get blood on her hands. At least not if she can help it."

"Well, maybe she got tired of robbing orphans and decided to do something exciting."

"And she was screaming your name."

"Oh, really? I didn't notice. Woohoo, it seems I'm getting a real recognition in this city! Good job, Varric, people can identify me just from your descriptions!"

"Hawke."

"Varric. Now you say Hawke again."

He just gave her a stern glare. She sat down and rubbed her neck.

"Duh, okay. I have a bit of history with Athenril. You know I had to spend a year in The Red Iron's servitude to get in the city, right? Well, I actually had a choice between Meeran and Athenril. I chose Meeran, because though The Red Irons do bloody work, at least most of the time you fight against bandits or mercenaries, people who know what they signed up for. Bullying storekeepers and blackmailing widows is really not my style."

"Don't try to tell me she was offended that you chose Meeran and tried to kill you years later."

"Of course not. The thing is, I talked to her and as a test she sent me to shake gold out of a local merchant. The guy was a complete asshole, milked refugees for their last money. So I got two sovereigns from him and I kept them and went to Meeran. And I don't feel bad about it at all, because both of them weren't innocent lambs and I needed to provide for my family in the foreign city. So, that's it."

Varric studied her, rubbing his chin "And she waited for years and then openly attacked you, aiming for murder? This doesn't sound like her. I'd say Athenril would ambush you alone in the dark alley within a week and try to mug twice as much gold as you owed her."

"I don't owe her shit," Hawke grunted and folded her arms. "And I'm not responsible for her acting stupid."

Varric sighed.  _Time to switch tactics._

"Hawke, I'm not asking this out of curiosity. You see, Athenril is kind of a big player in certain criminal circles, so people are asking me if you want to take over her business or did you became some mad vigilante to fight crime or..."

"Maker's balls, no!Nothing like that!"

"Then tell me the truth so I can tell them the most convenient lie and cover it up."

She gave him a long wary look.

"Promise you won't tell anyone, not those criminals, not in your tavern stories and especially not to anyone in our merry band."

"I swear on my neck-chain. Now spit it out."

Hawke sighed heavily.

"She did ambush me within a week in a dark alley alone and demanded gold. I told her to stick it, she started threatening me, we argued and called each other names, things became... tense and... um, hot, and we..."

"Got into a fight?"

"No. Well, yeah, but it was just a part of... the process, not the main... act."

Here Varric got it and clapped his hands.

"Oh no! You didn't just screw her up, you screwed  _her_! Rivaini would be so proud of you."

"Well, unlike Isabela, I don't like killing people I've slept with."

"Yeah? I thought you said you don't like killing people you respect."

"I don't sleep with people who I don't respect."

"Nice borderline. What happened after?"

Hawke shrugged. "She would appear once every few months, we'd have fun and she'd disappear again. That's it."

"How is it that I've never knew?" After the initial excitement over juicy news Varric's pride of information broker was somewhat stung.

"Well, she's a smuggler. I guess she's better at her job than you are at yours." Hawke leered, obviously taking a small revenge after her embarrassment.

"So what ruined paradise in the dirty alleys?"

"She showed up few days ago and I told her we need to stop. For some reason she didn't take it well, though I even offered her ten sovereigns for the two that I got from her back then."

"I wonder why she wasn't thrilled. The only other thing you could do for her was to send good references to the Blooming Rose."

"I didn't mean it that way! I mean, she's an interesting person for sure, I do respect her and her attempt at keeping an ethic code even if I can't accept the things she does. But I realize that I have no right to judge her when she managed to get herself into a position of power despite unfair social disadvantages. To become so influential, being a woman and an elf, in our fucked up world is really worthy of respect. I do not wish her harm, that's why I didn't kill her last time, but if she keeps attacking, I'll have no choice."

Varric drummed his fingers on the table thoughtfully.

"I'll try to contact her and smooth things over. She's usually a very reasonable woman, perhaps when the anger fades, she'll listen."

"Thank you, my friend." Hawke said heartily and rubbed her temples. "I don't understand why she's so mad at all. It's not like we had a meaningful relationship or something. We didn't even talk! Well, apart from namecalling and threats. It was purely sex."

Varric sighed. Hawke is too direct and self-absorbed for subtlety.

"Sometimes people can't voice their feelings. They imply it in casual words or in their actions, but never say it out loud."

"And how am I supposed to know? I'm not a blood mage, I can't read minds!"

"You'll notice if you feel the same."

"Bullshit." Hawke muttered stubbornly, looking like an angry child who just discovered that fire burns and you can do nothing about it.

"Anyway, why have you decided to end it now?"

"Urgh, well, I'm a respectable citizen now, one of the nobility, so I, um, can't allow back-alleys affairs with criminals spoil my reputation."

"Really?"

She met his eyes with a daring look "Why else?"

Varric cleared his throat. "Well, people say you and the elf, you know, the angsty Tevinter one, are becoming quite the item."

"The angsty one? You mean there is a non-angsty Tevinter elf around? What, Fenris has a cheerful evil twin and nobody told me?"

Varric rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"I just find it funny that when you're concerned about someone, you're trying to hide it by describing them in the most generic stereotypes. Like if you call them by names, people can think you care, and you're too cool for this."

"You're switching the subject."

"You too. But well, okay, I did tell him there's no one else."

"You realize that if Athenril managed to hide all her tracks so even I didn't know, then the elf would never find out?"

"It's not my style. And...he doesn't deserve those lies. It's important for him and to meet honesty with low tricks would be... Besides, this thing with Athenril was getting old anyway. Sure, rough kisses, fights, deep scratches, bites and burning hickeys are fun, but..."

"Sorry, burning hickeys?"

"I'm a fire mage, Varric."

"Oh, right."

"So, hate sex is fun for a time and a great way to release tension, but it starts lacking fuel after a while. Fights over two sovereigns lose meaning and purpose soon, you know. Just passion and lust is not enough for me."

Varric generally approved of her and the elf getting together - if anyone could make him laugh, it's Hawke, it's useful for her to have a critical counterpoint to her hot-headed idealism, and, again, anything to divert their attention from endless wrangling about magic. But there was danger of some common illusions on Hawke's part. The last thing the elf needs is an image of a mysterious lone wolf looming over him. But Varric knew that the best way to break the appeal of a romantic vision is a ridiculous comparison.

"Listen, as your friend, I feel I'll be doing you a bad service if I didn't say something. You do know the elf is covered in spikes, like an angsty porcupine? He might have some… issues."

"I was thinking of an angsty hedgehog, actually. They're much more adorable."

Varric chuckled, shaking his head.

"You can't be romantic to save your life, Hawke. And...adorable? Are we talking about the same Fenris or are evil twins are really involved?"

Hawke titled her head a little and looked at the dwarf from under lowered eyelashes, all calm judgmental grace of nobility that sometimes arises in her.

"I'm talking about the brilliant sarcastic guy with the most radiant smile..."

"What? He never smiles!"

"...who is so lonely and harsh on himself that he thinks there's no one who'd care to see him smiling."

Varric shut his mouth before making a sound, and Hawke leaned towards him with a small smirk, still managing to keep her chin high, and continued just as serenely.

"But he smiles at me sometimes, and I'm not gonna pass it up."

Varric accepted it with a grin and a shrug, and she sat back, instantly losing her regal posture and tone.

"And heeeey, I can be romantic when I want to!"

"Yeah, name me one romantic thing you did."

"Well, I... listened to love poems for two hours straight last week."

"Oh, from that guy here, in the Hanged man, who "courts" Isabela? "Your lips are like the wings of sparrows. Red no feathers."

"Yeah! He asked my advice, since I'm her friend, and I told him to go with insects metaphors more. I can't wait to hear what he'll come up with, this guy is priceless!"

"That's not romantic at all, Hawke."

"Huh? And what will you say if I listen to our poet and tell him that his most golden lines are bad, so no one else would ever hear them?"

"I'll say I'm writing a book "The most romantic blackmailer" about you."

"That's more like it."

* * *

"Oh, come on, there should be at least one good stick somewhere..." I muttered, stumbling around the flower-bed. Bloody Hightown, you can't find a decent stick, everything is spiky, frail or so exotic you can't be sure your dog can chew on it without being poisoned or turned into a parrot.

"There are certainly quite enough sticks to be extracted from local residents, but they come from places you'd better not let your dog taste."

I laughed and straightened up, turning to face Fenris, who sat on a bench near the flower-bed. We waited for Aveline to go on patrol with Donnick, but she couldn't muster the courage to tell him they're going together the whole morning. At first we were hanging around the Viscount Keep, but then Varric told us that we two should be less noticeable. Fenris said he's sorry he doesn't have proportions to be covered by a chair, I smirked and Varric told us to get out and wait nearby. So we found this little court between Hightown mansions with a good view of the Keep's gates, and I scared away two judgmental noblewomen with my Fereldan Barbarian routine.

Fenris smirked at me and rolled his shoulders back lazily. There were painfully cracking sounds, like an avalanche of small rocks bumping between cliffs.

"Maker's breath, Fenris! I've heard undead skeletons make more healthy sounds with their joints!"

"Then I apologize for the unpleasant noises during my vital functions."

"I mean, your back must hurt like mad."

He gave me a look of slight bewilderment that said  _Don't you know that life is pain?_

"It's tolerable. I'm used to it."

"It doesn't have to hurt, you know."

There was another, more stern glare meant to remind me that maybe backs of privileged mages, who wear light robes and nothing in their bags, indeed don't have to hurt, because some warriors carry everything heavy for them alongside their own weapons, which weigh more than aforesaid mages. I groaned, rolling my eyes, and explained myself.

"I've raised a brother who carries those ridiculous two-handed weapons too, remember? And Carver is not one to stay silent about things that bother him."

"So I've noticed. We all were intimately familiar with the occurrence of a rock in his boot or your shadow over his self-esteem."

"Point is, I know what I'm doing when it comes to a strained back. Let me help."

"There's no actual problem. It doesn't affect my performance in a fight."

I sighed. He would follow you to hell without as much as blinking an eye, but a shoulder-rub offer unsettles him into the state of nervous clinking pyramid of class cups. It's probably because he's more used to being hurt than taken care of, so I reminded myself to be patient.

"It matters even if it doesn't... ugh, affect your functionality. It shouldn't hurt at all, you know." I felt stupid saying those completely basic and obvious things out loud, but he stared at me blankly, so I sighed and turned back to searching for a stick "Okay, if you ever feel comfortable enough to get a shoulder-rub, let me know."

This… whatever is it going on between us has to be the most confusing and weird relationship I've ever had. On one hand, I don't have to worry that he discovers something embarrassing or off-putting about me. We literally spent years criticizing every little flaw and acting like utter fools in front of each other. On the other hand, I don't have the slightest idea how I'm supposed to act. No patterns that I've encountered with any other people fit for Fenris. He's simultaneously proud, but insecure, direct, but awkwardly secretive about his own discomforts. And even if sometimes he's sending non-verbal signals that scream "Let's fuck right now", you have to remember he doesn't really mean it and probably doesn't realize it either. This pacing seems excruciating, especially with me painfully trying to stay in the "Let him know he has some option" zone without falling into "Pressuring him into doing it".

Rex was fidgeting around me, getting underfoot and trying to catch my eyes enthusiastically. I groaned.

"Look, I'm trying to find you a stick, really, and if you want it so badly, how about you go search for one too?"

Rex barked and ran away, and then Fenris' wary voice said behind my back.

"I guess it's worth a try."

"Nah, don't bother, Rex will find a stick or just steal someone's umbrella."

"No, I meant..."

"Oh," I turned around and met his eyes "Are you sure?"

He shrugged.

"It's unreasonable to not try improving your conditions if you have a chance, I suppose."

He was in his "hedgehog in a second before curling up" state that I haven't seen in such intensity since the first time I had to heal him in the Deep Roads. I circled him slowly, showing my bare hands and not making any sudden movements.

"Look, if you want me to stop at any moment, just say it. It may hurt just a bit, because your muscles are strained, but I'll try to make it painless." I usually say soothingly-reassuring stuff like this when I do something like pulling bits of shattered knife from a patient's guts, but the Darktown clinic taught me that everyone has their own threshold of panic, and for Fenris it's "someone is touching me". I remember comparing him to the ruins of an ancient palace once, but now I think he's more like those Antivian volcanos I've read about. They look like cold, unmoving mountains until one day their temper erupts and then it's all clouds of smoke and ash, and burning lava destroying everything around. After that, they cool down and start brooding, looking stern and unapproachable in their grim spiky rocks. But with time they start to open up a little, with soft grass coming up from under the ash, and it's unexpectedly beautiful. Once Fenris starts to trust you, his light and endearingly awkward tenderness show up in the most trivial things - glances, smiles, rare touches. Damn, he managed to make hand-holding an emotionally challenging process.

He nodded, a familiar jerk of the head when an invisible string is pulled. I slowly lowered my hands to his shoulders and was actually surprised he didn't flinch.

To call Fenris' back "tense" would be as much of an understatement as to say that the Orleasian Empress has a few fancy dresses. The neck of a criminal waiting for the executioner's axe to fall down is tense, and it's nowhere close to Fenris' stiffness. His back and shoulders were solid, unmovable surface. I'd need "Stone to flesh" spell before I can do anything productive with it. Part of my mind, responsible for provoking and stupid ideas, perked up immediately.

_How about..._

No!

_But it should help, and you know you were dying of curiosity to see if it really works since the moment you've heard it..._

No! He'll just freak out. Shut up!

I sighed silently and started stroking his shoulders, very lightly and slowly. It couldn't have any real effect, but I needed him to relax first. Use of healing magic would only alarm him more - and if he stiffens even a bit more, he'll turn into a gargoyle. And telling him to relax would have the same effect as shouting "Stop!" at a running thief. I keep telling Aveline that if she wants arrests to be more effective, instead of "City Guards, open now!" she should say "Prostitutes!" when she knocks.

"Tell me if something is wrong," he jerked upright, and I added quickly "No, it's just that I'm trying to find out if anyone is capable of coming up with something that isn't already in the Great and Overarching List of Carver's Complaints."

He turned to me ever so slightly, shoulders drawing back again slowly "I'm afraid I'll disappoint you on that."

"Oh well, I'm not really expecting anyone to succeed. I mean, how can you beat "Duuh, careful, I'm not your dirty rags that you're trying to wash" or "If that's how you grope your lovers asses, I pity the poor bastards." I said that I don't touch asses as pimpled as his back, and he threw a tantrum, stormed away and then Dad gave me  _the talk_  and I had to apologize, for my good taste, apparently. Oh, Carver's puberty was a rough time for the whole family."

My casual blabbering did help to ease tension, as I hoped, but that's not saying much. Going from adamantine to "just" iron doesn't really help the situation. I tried to knead his shoulders and realized that yeah, this is it, this is his normal, "relaxed" state.

_Try it!_

Go away.

_Come on!_

This back is a travesty. That's not how it should go to have any results. It should be without cloth, and with many herbal ointments and oils and healing spells and it should be the reconstruction of all of this tense misery up to relocating the joints, and I'd still not expect the results in the first couple of weeks. Maker's breath, if the first thing someone wants to do with you after getting you in bed naked is fixing your spine, you know you're fucked up really bad.

_DO IT._

"Um, Fenris? I don't know if you're aware, but the muscles of your back are unhealthy strained, and by "unhealthy" I mean "Holy shit, how do you even live with that?" In the Darktown clinic I learned one spot behind elven ears that helps to loosen up quite efficiently. It doesn't hurt and it's not magic, so if you don't mind, can we try it?"

He didn't say anything, but there was an abrupt shudder as if his body reflexively jerked away from me, but he stopped himself at the beginning of the motion, and almost a hiss of breath being sucked in through clenched teeth. An agitated volcano trying to choke down an explosion.

"Oh, okay then, we won't try it, nah, it probably wouldn't do much good anyway." I said immediately, without waiting for his answer. He slowly exhaled and tilted his shoulders back to me.

"I… do not think that even if it's usually effective, it would help in my case," he said in an apologetic tone, glancing at me sideways.

"That's okay, as I've said, I won't do anything that makes you uncomfortable," I smiled with reassurance. "You don't have to explain yourself." He eyed me warily, but the stiff muscles under my fingers slowly relaxed again.

Being around him was like a painting with inverted colors, where the sky is black with green bushes of clouds and the earth is a mess of bright blue, dark purple and occasional lightning strikes of lava. Things that are usually tricky are simple, and things that are usually simple are complicated. I don't have a map of this volcano, sometimes I can't distinguish hidden cracks and traps, I can't even figure out the pace. I have to cautiously examine where I step to make sure it doesn't blow up or cave in, because this volcano is painfully aware of it's own weirdness. You set your foot down, feel the warning tremble, back the fuck off and then reassure your oversensitive explosive mountain that everything is ok. Then you wait until the ground stops shaking and try to move the other way, avoiding a sore spot.

After a few moments of silence he asked, obviously trying to change the subject and sound nonchalantly "You've learned it from Anders?"

"Nope, from an old elven hooker."

Fenris let out completely humorless and cold "Huh."

"No, really. She had a rheumatism strike in the middle of... her work, but she managed to make it to the clinic and I helped her. She insisted she has to repay me by revealing one of her secrets."

"Oh."

"Well, it was elven ear or dwarven tailbone, and I only barely managed to convince her that one of them is more than enough."

He laughed softly, the sleek muscles of his shoulders shaking slightly under my fingers.

"The thing is, people often want to repay you for kindness, and since they don't have money, - and I wouldn't take it anyway, - they share knowledge. By now I know all the places in the city where elfroot and deathroot grow, about twenty recipes for cooking rats and nugs, and how to train a fighting beetle."

"Valuable assets."

"There's also one dwarf, he's brought to the clinic after fights just about every week and I don't know how, but even unconscious he manages to bring flowers for me. He keeps telling me that if anyone ever bothers me, I just have to say the word."

"Should I be jealous?"

"Absolutely! The guy has ants in his beard and so many missing teeth that when he says "Guuurl, your bootiful", I'm not sure if it's bad pronouncing or he really means it."

He chuckled, looking up at me over his shoulder and leaning just a little into my touch. I brushed my fingers over the sides of his neck, way more fondly than I expected from myself, and got embarrassed over it. Luckily, at that moment Rex ran up to us with a stick in his teeth and started making circles around the bench, wiggling excitedly. I smirked and reached for it, but when my hands left Fenris' shoulders, he leaned down and took the stick first.

"I can do it, if you don't mind."

"Sure," I grinned to myself and ran my fingers down his spine. He arched his back just a little, let out a small low groan and then tried to cover it with this amusing half-chuckle half-cough, which he always uses to conceal his embarrassment. I grinned wider.

"This is astonishingly unregal behavior for someone with your name," the elf said strictly to Rex, who was jumping with impatience in front of him.

"What? Unregal?"

"His name is Rex," Fenris told me, as if it should've explained everything, and absent-mindedly threw the stick. Rexi launched after it immediately.

"Um... yeah, I'm well aware of this."

"Rex means "King" in Tevene. It was the title of the first rulers of Tevinter."

"But... There' are no kings in the Emperium, right, just magisters?"

"When humans first arrived, they had a dynasty of kings, which was later overthrown by the Court of Magisters. I thought you named your dog as... an ironic reference, did you not?"

This is the special kind of embarrassment - having to tell the guy who second-guessed your every decision for years that he gives you too much credit.

"No, but it does sound like something I'd do! Varric would love this version, he'll add something about me secretly being the last offspring of the dynasty and my great destiny and other stuff he loves."

"But... Rex doesn't mean anything in Common. Why did you give him that name?"

There are all kinds of stories that could be told about you, from "Awesome tales that can get you laid" to "Utterly embarrassing episodes of your childhood that you parents love to tell guests, because they think it's freaking cute." The story of Rex being named belongs to the last type, so I never tell it, especially not to people I want to be attracted to me. But, well, just three days ago Fenris had to pull me from dangling in a sticky giant spider's web – and it wasn't a solitary incident, but he's still here. If there's anyone to whom I couldn't disgrace myself more than I already have, it's probably him.

"When Dad showed him to us for the first time, Rex was a devastatingly cute fluffy ball with those adorable eyes that sometimes you... "

In the last moment I realized what I was saying and choked down "make".

"...can see him making even now."

Phew, that was a close one!

"Of course, we kids were gushing over him, and Beth asked what his name was. Dad said that the one he'd imprint on will name him. And then I... well, I asked him what his name, was and he made this cutely barking noise, like "Rrrrex!", so..."

"Wait," Fenris turned to me, looking up from under the raised eyebrows, "you asked a _dog_ what his name was?"

"I was a  _kid_! Kids are allowed to be ridiculous," he continued to stare at me, and I gulped "And sit still, please!"

He turned away, but tried to glance at me over his shoulder.

"And how did he choose you?"

I sighed.

"Dad put him in the center of the room, each of us standing few feet away. Carver was stomping his feet on the floor and screaming "Come here!" – apparently, it was his idea of showing strong character, Beth was hiding a chicken leg, and I just sat down and went "Rex, Rex!" He ran to me, probably because he thought I was a puppy too, just more stupid, we "rexed" at each other for the next half an hour, and well, the thing with an imprint was done."

I waited for him to laugh, smirk or at least make a sardonic remark, but he was silent for few seconds.

"You haven't changed at all since then, have you," his voice was soft and a little husky, a layer of enveloping volcanic ash with just teasing hints of glowing embers underneath.

"Look, you've got it all wrong from you flattery textbook. This phrase is for an old flame to complement her appearance after not seeing her for years, not to equate someone's level of mental development with children."

"I'm sorry. Obviously, standard textbooks can't do you any justice," he looked up at me with that maddening little smile, his eyes all gleaming and the deep enticing green of the forest's spring. I chuckled weakly. It's just confusing to receive a sudden flash of eyesex in the middle of exchanging sarcastic jabs and then go on like nothing happened, 'tis all I'm saying.

Meanwhile, Rex returned, but when Fenris tried to take the stick from him, the mabari apologetically wiggled his tail and dodged. I bit my lip to hide a grin. Fenris frowned and reached down again, but Rex jumped away, then circled the elf and run up to my feet.

"Why is this sudden outburst of loyalty?" Fenris asked, skeptically raising one eyebrow. Rex gave him a wheedling look, but stayed at my side. I couldn't help myself and burst out laughing.

"What? What is so funny?"

"You're throwing too far. When I make a throw, he usually manages to catch the stick before it hits the ground. For yours, he had to run for a couple of minutes." I leaned against Fenris' shoulders, chuckling and desperately trying to stop myself from burying my face in his soft disheveled hair. "I wouldn't be able to throw it with both hands half as far as you do without even paying attention."

"This laziness is terribly unbecoming for a noble beast of your status," the elf said with overly serious disappointment, and Rex tried to hide behind my legs from his reproachful gaze.

"I think he ought to be taught a lesson," Fenris stated, lifted his head and bumped into my chin. We both froze. It felt like my jaw was resting on the fluffy cloud that had an earthy smell of old leather, iron and, strangely, herbal tea. I waited for him to move away, but he didn't, and after a few moments I breathed out and relaxed my fingers on his shoulders. Without looking, I extended my hand and the stick's end poked at my palm immediately. Rex barked excitedly when I took the stick, but I just handed it to Fenris.

"So," the elf said, turning his head for a bit to look at the mabari, and his soft bangs tickled the underside of my chin. I grinned stupidly and got back to kneading his shoulders, and it took alarmingly too much of my willpower reserves to keep from burying my fingers and face in this silken cloud of hair.

Rex flattened his ears and made the most sorrowful look his big eyes could master, but Fenris continued firmly "You shouldn't try to elude exercises greater than you're used to, or how else will you become greater than you are?"

He swung his arm and the stick flew over the distant bushes. The mabari whined in resignation and ran after it.

"I usually walk him at least once a day" I said warily "You can join us. If you want to, of course."

"Yes, I'd like that," Fenris answered without hesitation, and I quietly sighed in contentment. Ruffled light strands of his hair quivered slightly under my breath and I grinned, glad that he couldn't see my expression and simultaneously a bit disappointed that I couldn't see his. Sure, all this tip-toeing is exhausting, but sometimes you stumble into a hidden meadow, and there's soft grass and sunshine and low melodical rumbling of warm streams, and suddenly it's all worth it.

_This fragile thing between us is weird and confusing, but, hey, I still like it and I want to see what it can grow into._

A sudden outraged cry rang out from the other side of the court. I started and jumped up to look over the bushes.

"Oh, shit..."

"What is it?"

"Your stick just struck the magistrate."

"Oh. I didn't mean to..."

"Well, it's not gonna be his biggest problem. He's about to get a mabari charging at him at full speed."

There was a second cry, loud and terrified.

"Yeah, that's it."

"Won't he be harmed?.."

"Nah, Rex doesn't bite random people without a command. The most danger the magistrate is facing is being drooled over and slightly crumpled if he doesn't let go of the stick fast enough. I think we should execute a tactical retreat before Rex leads him to us."

"Wise decision."

* * *

Isabela put a final stroke into the carving she was making on the stairwell and straightened up with a sigh. Creamed poisoned buttcakes, where could Hawke have been? The pirate has sneaked into the mage's bedroom a couple of hours ago, got tired of waiting and had to re-enter the mansion through a proper door to ask where's Hawke. The elderly dwarf said that the Mistress is out walking her dog.  _Unless she's walking her mabari to her homeland in Ferelden, I can't imagine what's taking her so long._

Isabela never waited for anyone, unless it was an ambush. It was generally easier to just find someone else available at the moment. But firstly, Hawke always waited for Isabela, and secondly, she was one of a kind. Weird pyromantic kind, sure, but still.

Hawke's limits of acceptance were extraordinary. She had very few conditions of basic decency, like "don't hurt innocents" or "no slavery", and then she wouldn't have a problem with you unless you had a problem with her. Isabela, skeptical at first, tried pushing her patience to expose the border of this acceptance, waited for a disgusted label of "slut" to blurt out, but got only firm and annoyed "Izzy, I'm glad you had a great time, but I'm really not interested in details, so please spare me." The only time the pirate caught something resembling disdain was when Isabela asked the mage if she visits The Blooming Rose. She scoffed and said "I don't pay for sex."

It irked Isabela, so she set up a meeting in the brothel and purposely showed up late. She expected Hawke to be uncomfortable and tense around people she presumably despised, but walked in to a vivid discussion of different corset's producers. ("Tevinter is the worst! Makerdamned feathers everywhere! Antivian are great, but their suppliers won't even deal with you if you don't order it in a package with a poison set.")

With time, Isabela realized that Hawke really didn't care what you do with your own private life, but she  _herself_ never paid for sex. It was part of her peculiar brand of narcissism - she wouldn't sleep with someone who didn't enjoy it, and if they did enjoy, then why should she pay for it?

And that was a good thing too, because falling for Hawke would be too damn easy. Isabela understood that early on and kept herself in check all those years, since the moment she realized that she'd really follow this girl into the Deep Roads if she asked.

The reason was simple, really. In Hawke's presence, you  _mattered_. She was like a fully weaponized battleship that some madman uses for transporting flowers. Equipped with a thick armor of self-confidence and capable of massive destruction, but genuinely, actively, terribly kind. That's why kittens let her take them down from the trees, small children stopped crying around her, and strangers ran up to her for help, ignoring guards. And if you were treated like shit your whole life and told that you're worth just a few coins, meeting this loyal, bright, sincere girl, who doesn't judge you and wouldn't sell you out even for a fortune, who will fight for you no matter the odds… It was intoxicating. You got used to Hawke covering your back. Then you started wondering how things could be different had you met her earlier. And then you were scared that one day she won't be here for you, because she got rich, moved into a fancy ancestral estate and she'll convince herself that she found her "True love", she might settle down, start making kids and then there wouldn't be anything tying her to some wretched pirate.

A door creaked and an enthusiastic mabari ran in, followed by an uncharacteristically flushed Hawke with an absent-minded smirk dancing on her lips and a book in her hands. She finally noticed the rogue and beamed.

"Isabela!Hey there!"

"You're taking a book to walk your mabari?"

"It's not for me!"

"You mean it's for the dog?"

"No," Hawke said and blushed.  _Huh, now I'm curious._ Isabela moved smoothly to the mage's side and snatched the book from her hands, expecting something obscene. It was "The Legend of Calenhad".

_Blushing over a historical book? I don't even want to know._

"So, what brings you here?" Hawke already steadied herself and grinned nonchalantly "You so rarely grace my humble residence with your delightful presence that I start thinking you don't like it."

"It's not bad. But I preferred the old place. It had... more charm."

"You're talking about the shack I shared with my mother, brother, and uncle?"

"I meant Lowtown. Dirty, chaotic, glorious Lowtown." Isabela grinned wickedly and slowly circled Hawke to lean suggestively against the wall. "The smell of tar and the sea, and the sound of some whore plying her trade in a back alley - don't you miss that?"

"But Hightown can be fun too! I didn't think I would enjoy noble parties, but it's hilarious to be an exotic novelty. I just walk around and act like I'm appalled at the most trivial things, and they panic. The other day I asked one snooty lady "Are you really going to drink  _that_ wine with  _this_ cheese?" and she almost choked. Though this doesn't work when Seneschal Bran shows up - you just can't out-snob that guy. With him I'm doing the Fereldan Barbarian, and he barely manages to restrain himself from strangling me." Hawke grinned with a strange combination of wistfulness and mischief that Isabela couldn't imagine on anyone else "But really, they are not all that terrible, mostly just sad people confused about their own importance."

"Hightown's nice enough, I suppose, for people who like clean streets and polite neighbors." Isabela grinned predatorily "But we're not like those people, are we? We play by our own rules."

She stepped up from the wall and moved slowly to Hawke.

"Speaking of playing… why don't we go off and have a little bit of… girly fun?"

"What? Like shopping?"

Isabela barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes. Hawke couldn't catch a hint until it's dead body started to smell.

"No, silly," the pirate wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and edged closer to the mage. "Us, together. Telling secrets, exploring each other's hidden… depths."

"Oh, a slumber party! Great, we should get Aveline here and tease her about Donnic!"

It took all of Isabela's extensive experience of keeping a straight face in card games and lying to authorities to keep herself from groaning, but she managed.

"Remember, last week you said to one bandit that you don't give a flying fuck about his threats? I just thought - you're a Force Mage, technically, you  _can_ give a flying fuck, right?"

Hawke stared at her blankly with a questioning half-smirk.

"I've never tried it. It sounds like fun," the mage still looked puzzled, with her head tilted to a side like bird. "Wanna show me how it's done?"

Hawke blinked a couple of times, then narrowed her eyes. She stared at Isabela for a few moments with her lips pressed into a thin line, then said coldly.

"I'm sure there are many force-specialists in the Circle who'd be thrilled to help you."

Isabela kept her face under control and when her lips twitched, she turned it into a careless smirk.

"Suit yourself. I'll just find my giggles elsewhere. No hard feelings."

The pirate managed to make it two steps behind the mage, when Hawke's short temper finally exploded.

"I thought we were friends!"

Isabela took a deep breath before turning around, but even her exceptional bluffing skills couldn't keep a smile on her face when she saw Hawke's hurt and downright offended expression.

"Oh, so I spoiled it?" the pirate heard sardonic bitterness in her own voice, but couldn't help herself "Because friends don't fuck?"

"No, because friends might fuck each other, but they don't fuck  _with_ each other," Hawke stepped up and pointed her finger at the rogue "I know you, Isabela. I know it takes you from three seconds to five minutes tops to decide whether you want to sleep with someone or not, and you're suddenly interested after three years? What changed about me that made me suddenly attractive for you? Why now?"

"I was going through every house on the way from the Hanged Man to here, so it took a while," the pirate said flatly.

"The first thing you said was that you liked it better when I lived in Lowtown. Then you told me that we're different from people in Hightown. And actually, the only thing that changed about me lately is where I live now."

"Yeah, you caught me. I was going to gold dig a new ship out of you."

"No, I think you tried to… what, make sure that I won't trade you for some noble snoots? Really? What did I do to make you think so poorly about me? We fought side by side for years. I've never pried into your past if you didn't want to talk about it. Even when you gave me bags of bullshit, like with that relic you lost and supposedly don't know what it is, or with your ship-wreck, or why you make up stupid excuses for never entering the qunari compound, - I've never dwelled on that, though I fully realize it's gonna bite me in the ass one day. I put up with all of that, but now you think I need a throwaway fuck to keep my loyalty going? That's what you want to make a basis for our friendship?"

_You righteous golden fool._

"No, because it's impossible to buy you, right? And your friendship is priceless, because it doesn't depend on anyone's judgement, but yours. And you have the luxury of choosing what you want to get from different people - friendship, sex, love or everything at once. Probably because your mother didn't sell you for few coins and a goat." Hawke stumbled at this, her eyes widening, but Isabela couldn't stop herself just yet. "And in your perfect world, where everyone has the privilege of being  _whole_ , you can judge people for not meeting your standards of self-worth. And it never occurred to you, that maybe I know myself better and I know that it'd be better for  _you_ this way _,_ because being loyal to me never brought anyone any good!"

_Aw, fuck it._

The rogue turned on her heels abruptly and strode to the exit.

"Isabela, wait!"

_Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it with a scorching fork…_

"Just remember, that when one day you'll put someone already once broken under the pressure and they break again, it's partly your fault too!"

Isabela finally slipped into the darkness behind the mansion's doorstep and welcoming shadows hid her dependably, like they always did.

"Isabela! Dammit, get back here!"

Hawke's silhouette stood in the doorframe, illuminated by warm orange light of her house light. Isabela turned and walked away without looking back anymore.


	13. I thought my demons were my friends

_I'm coming undone_

_Too late_

_I'm coming undone_

_What looks so strong_

_So delicate_

Giant spiders are one of the main reasons I'm not religious. Because even if the Maker does exist, I refuse to worship the bastard who created those things.

One of them was cornering me right now, if you can apply this word to a cave without anything actually resembling corners. But there were piles of rock on my right, on my left and directly behind my back, and right in front of me there were swinging jointed legs with disgusting drooling jaws glimpsing from time to time. I took a step back and threw some lightning in the middle of this mess. It seemed to only make the situation worse - the spider made a screeching sound and started swinging it's clawed legs even more furiously, gross hair that partly covered it's body stood up and now it smelled of burned flesh. Then it reared up - a sign that it was going to throw a web.

_Oh damn, no!_

"Just die already!" I screamed, closed my eyes - because getting this sticky shit in your eyes is  _the worst, -_ and cast Сone of Cold in front of me. When I opened my eyes, there was, as expected, a big pile of ice, but for some reason it was illuminated from the inside, bright blue light scattering from many edges of icy crystals.

_What the… oh wait, no…_

I squinted, trying to see past the shining. A big dark mass of the spider was caught in a strange pose - it's halves seemed to be moving in different directions. The light was beaming from behind it.

_Oh shit no…_

I circled the pile of ice and saw a lanky figure glowing with an irritated pulsing blue light, like a particularly angry lighthouse, which instead of being a beacon of hope chose to let ships know that they should keep the fuck away from here.

_Okay, the spell is going to last for maybe another couple of minutes, so if I run right now and take all the horses with me, I have a chance of out-speeding him, and if I'm lucky, there will be some ship leaving Kirkwall's Docks right now..._

"Fenris, I'm sorry!" I cried out. "Hold on, I'll get you out of there!"

There was a strikingly blinding flash of light.

So, there's actually a few different things I could do, not counting running the quickest way, was to shatter the ice with force spells, but there were certain risks. There's just not enough wine and apple pies in this world to bribe him if I break off his ear. So it's better to melt the ice gradually.

I pressed my hands against the ice's surface and sent a wave of heat through it. It started to sag, with streams of water running down and baring Fenris' left foot. It scraped the ground abruptly and glared at me with three glowing lyrium dots. I've never thought it was possible to glare with your feet, especially as pretty and dainty-shaped as his are, but apparently you can't put anything past this guy in the matter of scowling.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to happen," I said apologetically to this feet and doubled my efforts, scared by the thought of being subsequently judged by all of his limbs.

After a few seconds I managed to melt the ice all around him, so we stood in a pool of cold water, him drenched, with his back to me and his sword still stuck in the frozen spider mid-swing. Fenris jerked his sword abruptly and the remaining pile of ice with the spider inside shattered into small pieces.

"I'm really..." I started and he finally turned to me, still silently, and with wet bangs plastered over his face I could see only viciously luminescent green glimpses of his eyes, but even this was eloquent enough."...sorry. Look, I can fix that!"

So I did what I always do to dry my hair faster - I cast a stream of hot air at him. His hair got blown back and stood up, making a very messy and ruffled halo. Fenris cursed shortly in Arcanum, stepping back and blinking because of the sudden gust of air, and then he finally met my eyes.

"Are you done?!"

"Ouch, I think I overdid it a bit… But you're dry now, right?"

I caught one of his popped up bangs with my fingertips and pulled it down carefully, trying to smooth it on his forehead. The moment I let it go, it sprang up again. I patted it down hurriedly, but this seemed useless. Fenris was watching me with a distant look of murderous curiosity, with his sculpted angular face looking like a statue in a fuzzy wig. Maker's breath, his hair was so fluffy that I couldn't even see his ears, only the pointy tips were showing from a white cloud. I've never seen anything looking so cute and lethal at the same time.

I chuckled awkwardly, said "Oh, I think Aveline is calling for me!" and ran away.

When we were leaving the caverns after the fight, I could see that Fenris was still bothered by that accident. I guess I can understand why. It's not that it was friendly fire, it happens sometimes with area spells. It's how effectively  _my_ spell worked on him. He's used to being affected less by magic thanks to the markings, and he is definitely not used to turning into an icy figurine. I never discussed the whole "those markings increase power of mages who wish you well" thing, because, well, at first it was an awkward thing to explain and it just never seemed important in that way. I assumed it wouldn't give me an unfair disadvantage if we ever fight, because I'm obviously not going to be benevolent while throwing fireballs at him. But now apparently I don't need to specifically concentrate on liking him, it's just… there? Still very confusing and obviously not something I can coherently explain to him. And it'll matter just in rare cases like this one, when I can't see that I'm hurting him - and I'm not generally fighting with my eyes shut, so it shouldn't be a problem.

Still, I have to somehow deal with him right now. He was even more tense and jumpy than usual, and he glanced at me from the corner of his eyes warily - and it strangely irked me. I guess lately I got used to him being relaxed and open around me - well, at least much more relaxed than he usually is.

Well, I have to make him feel easier and reassure him of my totally good nature. So what do I do?

"So, it seems your hair returned into it's normal limits of unkemptness."

I make an awkward sarcastic jabs. No wonder people try to kill me all the time.

"Yes, and it only took a couple of hammer hits to the head."

"I don't know if people know about it in Tevinter, but here we have this secret wonder, it's called helmets."

He pressed his lips together and threw me a smoky side-glare of  _Don't tell me what to do and I won't tell you where to go_.

"I don't know why you're so pissed though, open forehead looks amazing on you too."

He blinked, looking a little startled, then frowned and glared at me, but the tips of his ears were red.

"You don't have to say that. I know I'm not... your type."

Um, excuse me, how is  _that_ your problem here? You should be pissed because " _You're using an obvious fact as flattery to appease me_ ", not because " _You're lying and actually don't find me attractive._ "

"You're not my type, but it doesn't mean I can't appreciate you looking gorgeous. It means that if there'd be someone else lanky, angularly scrawny and white-haired, I wouldn't be interested."

"What's the difference?"

I shrugged "I got to know you. And you're great."

He looked away, as usually hiding his embarrassed grin, but then he met my eyes, still smiling. It was like suddenly walking into a cloud, but not a real one, which is unpleasantly wet and foggy. No, the clouds on this volcano would sneak up on you out of nowhere and envelope you into a weightless warmth, so all you can do is bask in the soft dispersed sunshine, smiling and not moving, not even breathing so as not scare it away.

I held his gaze and his awkward one-sided grin turned into a soft smile and suddenly everything around stopped actually mattering.

_Wait, weren't you two arguing just now? And why are you standing in the middle of the road?_

Because though we mastered arguing while walking years ago, we can't do the same with smiling. Now shut up and stop interfering.

_I'm your logic and I'm trying to get a grip on the situation and you…_

I get smiles like this from him once a month at best, so just shut up and let me enjoy it.

_Nah, wait, I think it was him who was pissed at you, so keep smiling._

Maker's breath, it's a good fucking thing he scowls when we're actually arguing, with that mind-wiping effect of his smiles I could start agreeing without thinking.

Finally he coughed and tried to look serious.

"Anyway, I'd greatly appreciate it if you kept your eyes open in a fight."

"Aw, come on, that's not fair, I don't screw up like this usually. The bastard was about to throw that gross sticky web at me, you know how it itches when you get it in your eyes!"

"I don't know if people in Fereldan are aware of this, but in Tevinter we have this amazing technique, it's called "dodging"..."

"I was cornered!"

"...and another protective tactic involving your head, we call it "thinking ahead so you don't get cornered".

I laughed despite myself and nudged him, though without any force applied, because recently he stopped dodging me and was just letting me hit. Not yet a playful interaction it was intended to be, but at least he seems to believe I don't want to hurt him, and it's progress. Only took three years, wow.

"Hey, but I can't actually believe you don't know that you're gorgeous as fuck. I mean, come on, on an average day there are about five indecent propositions and at least one broken neck for every ten minutes you walk around town."

He shrugged uneasily, not looking at me.

"Knowing you're viewed as…physically attractive is not the same thing. Mostly it's a superficial evaluating opinion that might bring unwanted invasive advances."

Oh… That's why he doesn't so much as blink at the dirtiest innuendos and at the same time can blush at the most innocent stupid compliments.

He saw me frowning and shrugged again, waving his hand dismissively.

"I'm generally not bothered by it now that I'm able to stand up for myself."

I bit my lip. I've never considered it that way. Even having to hide my magic, I always knew I could protect myself at least with an "accidentally" fallen chandelier. And he was always so proud and prickly, so I just never gave any thoughts to the idea that there were times when he couldn't even show his displeasure at anything.

I took a deep breath and glanced away, because I knew he's gonna read my look as pity.

"Did you… Have I ever... "

"No, I've never felt like an object around you," he said quietly and I believed him, because the uneasiness faded from his eyes, "as a very aggravating person, maybe, but a person nonetheless."

I stuck my tongue at him and we smirked at each other, and then he arched his eyebrows a little and made those "shy tortured puppy eyes with just a hint of hope at something", and it's really just maddening.

_Maker's breath, what do you want me to do? Kiss you, give you a puppy, kill someone? I can't read minds! Ugh, I should get Merrill here to help me with blood magic!_

Okay, hush, let's think logically and look for other hints. So, is there anything? I think yeah, his arm is thrust out and fixated in a bit tense, uncomfortable position, with his hand opened flat. Oh, is that it? Yeah, I think it's the same look he was throwing at me that evening in the Hanged Man before finally covering my hand with his own.

I slowly moved my hand, pressing my palm against his and saw him grinning without looking at me. With the claws of his gauntlet, it's impossible to actually interlace our fingers, so we had to keep our hands exactly aligned with each other. You had to dynamically adjust to this fragile balance of sharp spikes and barren vulnerability of the scarred skin, moody defensive temper and elusive sunlit smiles.

"How about I get you an apple pie as an apology?"

"I don't think it'd be sufficient. Maybe with a complimentary back-rub."

_Awwww yes!_

* * *

Sounds of the chant were flowing through the Hightown - it was the time of the evening service in the Chantry. Fenris stood, leaning against the window frame, and breathed in the fresh air. Old sacks with tea were torn by mice and draughts scattered tea leafs all over the mansion. Their deep herbal smell now mixed with the flair of the chantry's incense and salty notes of the winds from the Docks.

It smelled like Seheron - tea, incense and the sea.

In the books that he had read, narrators in times of distress were remembering places and times where they were happy, to escape and ease their present suffering. Fenris never had a mental space like this when he was a slave. His greatest luxury in the rare moments when he was left alone was to stop being himself, just sink into the thoughtless empty void, where he didn't have to be what others demanded from him - a weapon, pet or toy.

That's why he reached for religion, even if half-heartedly, - there must be something worse than what he went through. There must be torment more terrible, an abyss deeper than his own void, there must be some sense, some purpose in everything. And there must be something better, too. The absence of pain cannot be the same as happiness, because otherwise why even bother with surviving through all of this?

And now he felt that strange heartache for Seheron, his twice lost supposed homeland, not because he was happy there - but there he became alive again. And if there is someone in this world who ever loved him, who maybe still thinks of him sometimes, then where it could be if not in the place where he was born?

He sighed deeply. Seheron was lost for him now. He couldn't return, not after what happened with the Fog Warriors. He had to move forward. If he only knew how...

With Danarius he was an empty shell on a leash with a heavy iron collar, with nothing to lose and nothing to gain. So when he ran away, tearing the leash, it broke his spine and anger was his only crutch to keep himself standing. He didn't have anything but the ruins of his own cage, so he built himself around them and though he couldn't take a deep breath because of the iron bars in his chest, they kept him from falling apart.

His tie to Hawke felt so different - not a leash, but hundreds of thin strings, hooked into him. Taken separately, each of them seemed insignificant and harmless, but they went deep into him and were so numerous. And there was something that he never knew before - an urge to share. He caught himself wishing she was there to see something, guessing her reactions, wanting to tell her his thoughts and hear her response. He thought of her seeing jewelry with birds, when he caught the scornful glances of nobles in Hightown he secretly wanted to have her reassuring confidence by his side, even dancing flames in the fireplace reminded him of her in the long lonesome evenings.

Worse of all was that he wanted her - needed her - and he didn't even know why she was with him. Hawke, who could choose someone with status, wealth and education, someone who's easy to be around and without a burdening past, Hawke, who was impatient and direct, wasting her time on merely holding hands?

Was that pity? Was that the childish curiosity to see an interesting bug pinned on the table and dissected? Or the challenge of taming a wild nervous beast? A savior's desire to fix him? Adventurous conquest to get an exotic trophy and unique experience to tell stories about? Explorer's search for a solution of a difficult puzzle?

And as much as he craved closeness, he feared it. What will a woman who resents the very concept of cages think of someone who needs iron bars in his chest to not fall to pieces?

He felt helpless and inadequate. He caught himself trying to read her expectations and hated himself for that - it was a mentality of a slave, always trying to guess how to please the master. Because he knew that if he'd run away now, those countless ties would tear him into pieces and she wouldn't be bothered apart from the trouble of finding a new fighter. And the worst thing was that deep down he was afraid - afraid that if Hawke will eventually give him those conditions to fit in, he'd do that, play the given role for acceptance without even realizing it. He was desperately tired of helplessness, of waiting for the catastrophe of one kind or another to happen and knowing he could do nothing to prevent it.

He was forged for survival, but now he wanted to  _live_ and it was killing him.

* * *

Funny thing about the Fade is that while it's supposedly the world of dreams where everything is possible, on practice it's just boring badly copied pieces of the real world with a sickly blurry greenish-yellow tint. I suppose it says things about the limits of imagination of demons or maybe the Maker himself.

Also it was supposed to provide cathartic tests for your spirit and wit. So far it provided barrel puzzles, which weren't very spiritual. Not that I minded puzzles, after completing them there was a certain boost of abilities, but what supposed metaphorical meaning could lining up red barrels possibly contain?

I sighed, staring at the damn barrels. I solved the previous puzzle with big and small barrels, but couldn't make sense of this one yet. Meanwhile, everyone else was busy staring too, but not at anything productive. Aveline stared at me with demanding impatience, not realizing that years of withstanding Fenris' glare left me immune to this Fenris was routinely fidgeting and checking if anyone'd sneak up behind his elbows. The rest of the time he spent suspiciously eyeing Anders, who, unlike always, took no notice of that. He - or should I say Justice? - glared righteously into the distance, which I found astonishing considering that we were standing in a small room.

"Hawke, stop wasting time!" Aveline finally realized that just a piercing angry gaze won't affect me and exploded "This place is dangerous as it is!"

"Time has a different meaning in the Fade, Aveline," I said serenely, "didn't you notice you can dream of years going by in mere hours of real time?"

"You already spent half-an-hour chasing a stupid flying book!"

"Ugh, please, it was ten minutes tops and everyone was very entertained with watching me trip around those damn columns, so don't try complaining now!"

"We really should move on," Fenris said tensely. "This place is dangerous, and we should reduce our time here as much as possible."

"Technically, you get here every time you dream," I retorted. "Does it mean you also try to sleep as less as possible to avoid it?"

And then for a second there was strange haunted look in his eyes, before he stepped back and looked away, and for some reason it made me feel guilty. But what did I do, invent the Fade?

_Nah, he's just having one of his moody strikes._

"Hey, Anders… I mean, Justice!" I said cheerfully, turning to the glowing apostate. He kinda gave me the creeps, so I wanted to chat him up. I mean, he couldn't be all that bad, right? "A question for you as an expert. What are those barrels supposed to represent? I mean, I get the flying book one - it's about chasing the knowledge or something, but lining up red barrels? What does it symbolize?"

He turned to me, expressionless and creepily glowing. Fenris radiated the same chilly shade of lyrium azure, but at least you could clearly see that it's coming from the markings. With Anders, the glow was sort of leaking through the cracks in his skin. It looked like there's just a shell with a human body covering the eerie ball of light, and that this human-looking surface could fall to pieces.

"It is irrelevant."

"O-okay then..." I drawled, trying to force a smile. Jeez, this guy is so much of no fun that even making fun of him is no fun!

"It is done."

I turned around and blinked at Fenris in confusion. He pointed with an abrupt jerking of his hand at the barrels, red ones grouped neatly in the center now of the others. "Are you satisfied now?"

"Hey, but you did it all by yourself! The fun part was figuring it out!"

"Can we move on already?" there was a strain in his voice and I sighed, leaving the room.

"Fine, fine! Be a killjoy, as always!"

We stepped into the courtyard and suddenly everything around faded - well, more than it was already, to the state of me standing alone in a small piece of land with blurry surroundings. I whipped out my staff and glanced around, preparing to throw a fireball at the first signs of motion.

"Greetings, mortal," said a pleasant low voice.

"Is this a proper way to greet your guest?" I shouted back cheekily. "You have to meet people face to face!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that right now."

"And why is that?"

"Because you'd try to kill me," he answered in the same pleasant tone and I laughed.

"Well yeah, but it never seemed to bother any of your other demon pals."

"I am not a practitioner of the standard methods. I'd prefer to actually talk with you first."

"Oh, let me spare you the trouble, I know the drill already. I don't want to master the immense power of blood magic, I don't need sacred knowledge, I don't want to revive any dead relatives, I don't intend to conquer the world or get a fortune, I don't want to prove my worth and get back at people who ever offended me, and I'm capable of getting people to like me without brainwashing them. So, can we skip to the part where I kill you?"

"How about understanding what the fuck you are actually doing?"

Despite myself, I was a bit startled.

"Not selling my soul to a demon, what's not to understand about that?"

"What it is your doing with your life, not what you're doing in a moment. That's one of your biggest shortcomings, by the way - you only see the current situation. No strategical planning, not even one long-term goal."

It all started to get on my nerves.

"Yeah, I bet you certainly have a clear strategic goal of possessing me!"

"Perish the thought. I wouldn't merge with a mortal even if they offered me power as extensive as the one that the boy in whose mind we are now has."

"Oh really, I'm sure convinced."

"I told you, I do not fall under the foolish obsessions other demons follow. I, unlike the tiresome little spirit you keep in your company, realize that you can't merge with a human soul without it affecting you in return. I don't want to be changed by a human. We are all creatures of different worlds and the mix of those is always dysfunctional, like would an offspring of a bird and a fish be. Also, there's the rather disgusting matter of body maintenance. Do I need a package of parental issues, sexual frustration, inferiority complex, the load of instincts and reflexes and the need to stuff myself with substance, then excrete it's wastes and also lie unconscious and helpless for several hours a day? And then aging and inevitable death? No, thanks."

"Err," I said, confused and a bit offended for my world. "It's not all like that! There are good things too!"

_Wait, are you trying to convince a demon that possessing a human is a great thing to do?_

"Oh, I'm sorry, I did not mean it as an insult. I merely explained why I'm not drawn to that perspective. No offense meant to you, after all, you didn't choose to be born mortal. Actually, I admire how good you're handling your species pitiful existence. You even manage to optimistically enjoy it, unlike most of the mortals. And you are also efficient despite your baggage of human issues. That's why I chose you."

"Chose me to do what?"

"To be my agent in the world of mortals. Working together will bring benefits to both of us. More benefits to you, actually. Because first I'll help you to become way more efficient. I'll teach you to always get from people what you want."

"Oh let me guess, with blood magic?"

"On the contrary, I'd prefer if you'd kept away from blood magic. Why do you think I had to find you in these outskirts of civilization? It'd be much easier to deal with a Tevinter mage, they practically hand out their resume to our kind."

"You expect me to believe that a demon is against blood magic? It's like a dwarf who doesn't like gold!"

"Oh, make no mistake - I'm not against it, I'm against using it for solving every problem. Like all magic, blood magic is a tool, and like every tool it must be used for a certain range of purposes. Tevinter mages rely on it too much, using it for everything without even considering other options. With all their pride in their own deviousness, they are too blunt and limited. A wise person knows to not use a war-hammer to shape a crown. That's why I chose you. You're imaginative and you manage to deal with people without forcefully brainwashing them. You just need to be taught… finesse."

"For what? To un-forcefully brainwash people? I'm not gonna be a manipulator!"

"Ah, but you already are one. Every mage is. What is your magic if not a manipulation of elements? What is your healing if not a manipulation of a patient's body?"

"That's different!" I shouted indignantly. "It's manipulation of matter, it's just physical. You're talking about affecting minds!"

"I have to repeat myself, but you're already doing it. Like it or not, your presence is very influential by itself. Right now you just don't understand how you're affecting people and where it will lead. You're like a blind bull in a glass workshop - you don't even notice if something is shattered."

"Oh, bullshit! Whom did I shatter?"

"Well, I'm not going to bring up your brother - that's a topic for an hours long discussion. Let's talk about something small and immediate, what happened mere minutes ago. You knew that your followers are uncomfortable in this world, yet you still chose to take time to solve my puzzles. You were even explicitly asked to not do so, yet you ignored it and indulged your own curiosity."

"Maker's breath, don't try to make a big deal out of it! These few minutes didn't matter."

"Didn't matter for whom? For your quest - well, probably yes. For the comfort of your companions - it did. You even managed to poke your elf in one of his sour spots. Which isn't bad in itself, since it prompted him to solve your problem."

"What? He's always like that! And he could just tell me if he was so bothered by it!"

"He told you. He asked you to proceed and you mocked him."

"Oh, come on, he mumbles "we should move on" to me all the time anyway!"

It strangely irked me though, because in the last couple of years, sometimes when he meets my eyes, he smiles briefly and says "Yes, my friend?" and in those moments I know he feels secure.

"Of course, because he has too many sour spots. Sure, you're not going to be considerate of that - it'd take too much effort and it would sacrifice your own interests."

"Shut up, it's not like that! After all, he would say something more insistent if it was really that bad."

"Of course he wouldn't. The life of slave taught him that the world doesn't care about his personal well-being. The only way he knows how to get anything for himself is to be useful to his master."

I was almost breathless from rage for a moment.

"Fuck you! How  _dare_ you compare me with that slaver pig!"

"I don't compare you, I compare the narratives. You kicked his insecurities, and because he's so afraid of looking weak or annoying to you, he solved your problem for you."

"Bullshit, I didn't mean to manipulate him that way!"

"I have news for you since you as a mage could be confused - intent is not magic. It's small things like this that make a difference, you see, and your actions have consequences whether you planned them or not. And you may not realize it yourself, but you wanted to make him stop pestering you and you accomplished it. So it's not like you're not manipulating people right now, it's just you're doing it blindly, and those, much less effectively and with unnecessary accidental damage."

I grasped for arguments to shut him down, but could found nothing in my anger.

"You mortals are funny creatures. You're are capable of doing just about anything that you consider wrong as long as you convince yourself that you're actually doing something completely different. I merely advise you to start being honest with yourself."

I threw a fireball in the darkness ahead of me, but the demon continued calmly.

"Today you'll get two knives in your back. Only two, because the third one was set in motion years ago and will take time to complete it's path. But it will be there, eventually. I offer you a chance to prevent those betrayals."

"Firstly, if you think that I'll let a demon convince me that my friends are gonna betray me, you're not half as smart as you're selling yourself. Secondly, let me guess, for preventing those hypothetical betrayals you'll want me to give you this boy's soul?"

"Absolutely not. I'd ask you to kill him."

"What?"

"I told you already, I wouldn't want to merge with a mortal even if  _I_  got paid for that. So think for a moment and you'll see that death is the most preferable option for the dreamer. He has only two paths - if he can't control his powers, he'll be possessed by some demon with much less finesse than me. I wouldn't want a maniac of that power ravaging my realm and I think you feel the same. The only really available opportunity for him to learn how to control his magic is in Tevinter. So would you want to see a magister who's capable of controlling people not only by the power of blood, but by the power of dreams as well?"

"I..."

_I didn't think of that…_

"Well, if you wish to be stubborn for the sole purpose of stubbornness, let it be the lesson to you. I believe there's no danger of you actually dying from this mistake for now. But when you get to the boy, after you see that I was right about your followers, think again. Try to cleanse your judgement from the prejudice against my kind and you'll see that I'm right again."

His laughter was a rustle of gravel sliding down a mountain side.

"You think you're better than me because you "mean good", but results of well-intended blindness are often worse than any evil plan. You shine bright, little bird, but your own light blinds you and you can't see how you burn those who try to get closer to your fire. Worse yet, you're proud of your blindness. You think that one moment, one fight, one quest can truly save people who ask for your help, so afterwards you leave them to their fate, satisfied with yourself. Well, fly away, blind hawk, fly into the trap you've brought on yourself."

There was a flash of light - the bastard really liked forcing metaphors, doesn't he, - and I was in the courtyard again. Nobody seemed to notice my absence - the demon must've played tricks with time. Aveline was saying something about local Templars not being friendly enough with the guard. Fenris glanced questioningly at the staff in my hand, but I shrugged and walked to the stairs.

What unsettled me the most, was the lack of malice in the demon's tone. He sounded condescending, a bit disappointed and entirely too confident.

* * *

They walked through the door and were washed over by a wave of light. Fenris blinked and when he opened his eyes, he was invisible. All that was left of their group was an elderly elf with slick silver hair, in mage robes.

"Whoa whoa! I'm an old dude!" gasped the mage, and if there were any doubts that it was Hawke, they vanished. She clasped her ears and exclaimed "And an elf!"

"My people, I present to you... our hope," said the voice of the Dalish Keeper that sent them here.

There was a group of elves ahead, standing in circle around the young boy they came to save. Near him stood the Keeper, apparently making a speech. A demon, obviously.

"His features may mark him as human, but in his heart beats the blood of the Dales!"

"Whoa whoa whoa! Look at these sweet ass robes I'm wearing!" Hawke was looking down at herself. "So sexy and stylish I'm gonna cry! And it's grey, red and gold, my favorites!"

Fenris felt a pang of irritation. Of course it'd be her who kept the ability to act and of course even in this perilous realm, everything was a joke to her.

"He is now a prisoner of the Circle, but through us, he shall find freedom!" the Keeper stoically ignored Hawke, probably hoping to convince the boy before the mage managed to get over her clothes.

"I... I don't know what to say..." Feynriel mumbled, looking lost and flushed. It was going to go badly if Hawke didn't interfere. Meanwhile, in her journey of self-discovery, she found the staff.

"Fuck me sideways! What a beauty! Three ebony dragon heads with glowing eyes! Suck it, Flemeth, this thing is cooler than just turning into a dragon!"

Fenris growled, but there was no sound, so he nudged her at the shoulder.

"What? oh yeah, right. Listen up, kid. Your power could restore the elves to their former glory. It's time we take mage fashion back from dirty demon-worshipping Tevinters!"

Feynriel looked up at her.

"First Enchanter? You're not going to tell me my magic makes me dangerous?"

"He is First Enchanter, child, but also, an elf," The Keeper said smoothly. "You have a gift we feared lost. As a dreamer, you can tap the power of the Fade and the spirits within, as we all once did."

"Maker's butt-itch, First Enchanter? You've gotta be a fucking First Enchanter to get a decent robes around here?" Hawke swayed and shook her head - Fenris guessed now it was Aveline who nudged her. "Err, yeah. You will change the course of history, Feynriel. Listen to me, I will lead to you to the path of sexiness."

"N-no, all my nightmares do is wake me up screaming. What power is that?" the boy was conflicted.

"A dreamer's mind shapes the Fade. Open yourself to the spirits and you can bring that control to the mortal realm." the demon said soothingly, but it was too late.

"Spirits? You mean demons!" the boy stumbled back, his wide eyes searching around. "This is what the Circle warns of... the temptation."

"You're not the Keeper!" he screamed at the demon. "Mother's people have no Circle, but they don't consort with demons."

Feynriel turned and run away, vanishing from the sight.

"I wish..." Hawke muttered, folding her hands.

"You! Why did you interfere?" the Keeper turned to Hawke, and after a flash of light they all were visible again and there was a huge black demon in front of them.

"Sorry, chap, couldn't wait for my turn. I'm giving you the soul of my horse and two newborn puppies that my dog fathered this month for these robes and staff. They don't even have to be enchanted, just keep the style."

"With my power joined to his, Feynriel would have change the world!" the demon roared, ignoring her blabbering.

"Yeah, I'm sure he'd be a very influential puppet," Hawke uttered testily, again in her own form. "There can be no honest deal with a demon."

"No? You think I will lie then when I offer your friends what Feynriel turned down?"

"Um, how is that a trick question? Obviously, yeah!"

"You think that slave would choose you over his freedom?"

Fenris blinked, not expecting this at all.

"Cast your eyes elsewhere, demon. I won my freedom from the magisters long ago."

"But you fear them still. They have left their marks on your body and your mind."

Darkness fell. There was a sickening smell of burning flesh and his body was torn apart with blazing pain. The scream of animal agony rang in his ears and a lazy voice said "Plug his mouth. As good as those wailings are for my reputation, if we don't stop it, he'll bite his tongue off soon." Something that tasted of dirty leather was shoved in his mouth and the howling stopped, but the pain only seemed to get worse.

_No no no, anything but this..._

"With my aid, you could be free forever. You could have power enough to challenge any who would chain you."

...The leash tugged him down and he kneeled, locking his eyes on the marble floor. Weak wrinkled fingers caught his chin, but as always, Fenris stopped himself from flinching and didn't look up. The hand moved up his jawline to lazily stroke behind his ear, and his skin crawled. "So, will you give up or shall I send my little pet to fetch me your heart?.."

_No no no, not again..._

"How transparent can you get?" Hawke's taunting voice sounded dull, as if coming from far away.

...The air reeked of fire and blood. Danarius stood in front of him and the bodies of dead rebels lay all around them. Ash and blood stained his face, blood streamed down Fenris's sword - their blood, blood of people who helped him and tried to protect him. And there was nothing he could do. "Good, my little wolf, good..."

_Not again, I can't go through this again..._

"But... to face him as an equal? I..."

He'll lose everything... But he'll lose everything anyway when Danarius finds him, and he'll be helpless and he'll have to live through all of this again...

"What... what would you want from me?" he heard his own stumbling hoarse voice like it was a stranger speaking.

"A moment of your time, nothing more."

It's not a soul, it's not forever, it'll be over soon and then he'd never have to be afraid again...

It took him over in the next second. He felt his body moving, there was a sword in his hand and it started a low swing. And then Hawke turned to him, her amber eyes widened in shock, and he waited for a spell, for an ice wave to freeze him in place, but there was nothing. For one never-ending moment she was confused, and he realized that his strike was going to hit her. He tried to scream and pull back, but his body wasn't controlled by him - he could just watch as his sword cuts her side, she stumbles back and blood rushes from the wound, and his hands are already moving for another blow...

Aveline rammed her shield into him, throwing him away from the mage. When he gained his balance back and looked up, Hawke's eyes were wild yellow. The next blissful moment fire finally consumed him.

He woke up, sweating, on the bench in that little Alienage house. Feynriel's mother gasped and jumped to her feet.

"What happened? How's Feynriel?.."

"No, it will be fine," he said, avoiding her worried gaze. "Hawke's progressing. She'll save your son."

The Keeper watched him with sad knowing eyes, but said nothing. He took a deep breath and run his fingers through his hair. He wanted to run away, flee the city, get drunk and never sleep again. But he had to stay. He had to face her when she wakes up.

Aveline bolted up a few minutes later, breathing frantically.

"Wesley! Wesley!" she called, but then met his eyes and her gaze focused. "I need some air," she groaned and walked out of the house. She returned after some time and then Anders awakened.

"You?.." Aveline raised her eyebrows and the mage protested indignitally, waving his hands.

"What? No! Of course I wouldn't fall for a demon's ploy, I'm not a fool. No, we've defeated all the demons and found the boy."

"What's wrong then? Where are Feynriel and Hawke?"

"He's... alright. As okay as he can be in this situation. For some reason, Hawke asked me to leave them alone. She said she wanted to talk with him privately. So don't worry, it should be over soon."

It was. After few minutes Hawke opened her eyes, got licked over by her mabari and finally stood up.

"Feynriel's fine. He had to leave now, but he'll be in touch. I'll visit you later to tell more. Now excuse me, I'm not feeling very well. See you next time Merrill trys to get possessed by a mirror, Keeper."

She stormed out of the house and they followed her. In the street, Aveline tried to advance to her and start talking, but Hawke turned furiously on her heels, throwing up her hands.

"Don't even try to come near me, any of you!"

"Well, I find that there's nothing like being possessed to keep you on the straight-and-narrow," Anders said cheerfully, obviously proud of himself, but Hawke snapped "Not now, Anders," and turned to Aveline and the elf. He forced himself to meet her eyes, still searing yellow.

"I counted on you! If I'd taken Merrill to the Fade then well, shame on me, but you people always go on about vigilance and resisting magic and honor... Duh!"

She turned and walked away, fast and leaving burning sparks in her wake.

Fenris and Aveline exchanged glances. Hawke is too proud and stubborn. Will her principles bear to forgive a betrayal?

_That's right_

_Trigger between my eyes_

_Please strike_

_Make it quick now_


	14. Somebody hears you. you know that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually can't compliment bioware on subtlety, but I do like how quests of all companions after betrayal basically called "NPC's Apology", but for Fenris it's "Fenris's Night Terrors".

 

_Somebody hears you. you know that inside._

_Someone is learning the colors of all your moods, to_

_(say just the right thing and) show that you're understood._

There are three types of people trying to do business in the early morning. Sebastian's type - cheerful and enthusiastic morning bird, who had a long nights rest and is ready to brighten everyone's day. Isabela's type - who didn't sleep at all and now were in a hazely good-humoured indifference, trying to find something entertaining enough to stay awake. And Hawke's type - night owls, who got a little sleep, but not nearly enough, and now were spending all of their willpower on keeping themselves from strangling the shiny morning birds.

The mage perched herself on top of the stone Hightown fence, balancing herself with one foot - Isabela suspected only to keep herself from falling asleep. Usually at that time she'd be exchanging sarcastic jabs with Fenris, but right now she was cherishing her offence. It was almost weird to not have the elf around when they went on quests. He became nearly irreplaceable in their group after Carver left. It made sense - Hawke was used to working with a two-handed fighting style because of her brother and Fenris was specifically trained to be a mage's bodyguard. In the last three years they became practically synchronized in battle, which was nice except for the occasions like this one, because now there was a glaring hole in their defense.

"Where's Merrill?" the mage muttered with irritation. «She was supposed to be here half-an-hour ago."

"So," Isabela said nonchalantly, leaning against the fence at Hawke's side, "how long are you planning on holding on to that precious grudge of yours?"

"Izzy, it isn't a grudge," the mage said testily, even managing to fully open her sleepy eyes for a moment. "It was a betrayal! They tried to kill me!"

"In a dream. So you'd, oh, I don't know, tragically and unreservedly wake up."

"So we'd got a mage of rare devastating power possessed by demons and undoubtedly on a killing spree! Besides, betrayal is a betrayal. And how can I trust someone, who succumbed to a demon's offer once?"

"And how are you trusting Merrill then? You're taking her along."

"I don't," she said curtly. "But she never made a secret of her alignment, and I see her as too well-meaning and harmless for now to kill."

"Everyone has their weakness," Isabela said softly.

"I was telling demons to fuck off not just once, but for years. I know that it _is_  possible to resist, and, oh believe me, I wanted to have what I was offered more than to keep my life."

"Not everyone has your wings and your fire, Hawke."

The mage puffed and looked away.

_You little golden fool._

"Anyway, wasn't trying to get you off your high horse or anything, but from a purely practical standpoint, not having a single fighter in the group sucks. Let me tell you, a prospect of being the only one who fights in close combat doesn't excite me. I prefer to have at least one very noticeable stick in the mud that all enemies surround, so I can have an easy go on their backs. And it's in your dire interest too, since right now there won't be anyone capable of distracting people pissed off at your fireballs."

Aside from this, the pirate wouldn't mind that much a little break of having the mage and Fenris in the same company since their attraction turned from entertaining self-denying tension into the irritating courting rituals of five-year olds. The other day they were walking side by side and Hawke kept trying to kick the elf, until she slipped in the dirt and he caught her arm to keep her from falling. Then he grinned and bowed a little, and she blushed and tried to kick him again so awkwardly, that Varric and Isabela had to roll their eyes at each other.

"We'll manage," Hawke said stubbornly.

"Certainly we will! It's only a question of how many broken bones that were supposed to be given to your 'betrayers' you'll get instead."

The mage shrugged with her chin proudly high, but suddenly Sebastian blunged into the conversation.

"It's natural that you were disturbed by that event. The fade was not meant for mortals to enter and the results of the recent affair has proven it again. But perhaps if you'd care to give it a chance, you could find out all questions that gnaw on you are already answered in the Chant."

Hawke turned her head to him and pointedly slowly sized him up.

"My father always said - religion is like sex: don't discuss it with people unless you're planning to practice it together. You're not going to like my opinion, princeling, so let's not dwell on that."

Isabela huffed. The Chantry boy tried to talk with Hawke about faith for a long time now, but she always evaded it with perfect politeness. But she was too unsettled right now, so it might work for him.

"It's understandable that you're resentful toward the Chantry because of your… troubles with the Templar Order, but..."

Hawke chuckled with grim amusement.

"Troubles? I wouldn't call the life-long hunt a "trouble."

Sebastian opened his mouth to answer, obviously having prepared a rebuff to this beforehand, but Hawke went on.

"But do I hate Templars? Of course I don't. Why would I hate those brainwashed boys? There's this one nice well-meaning guy - his name is Cullen, I believe, - who told me that 'mages are not people like you and me.' Do you see that it's not just dehumanizing us, but also missing the entire point of supervising a mage - that mages are weak  _because_ we're people just like everyone else? On which soil did that bullshit grow? The Chantry's teachings, of course. But can I blame the herd when a foundation of their close-mindedness was laid by their shepherd?"

_Wow wow is she going to the heresy territory?_

"What god creates a world, populates it with sentient beings and then just abandons it like a child would leave a sandbox with an unfinished castle - to have spirits forever envy and ache for the world they can't reach? Is it any wonder that demons try to escape that blurry empty hole they were trapped in?"

Sebastian stared at her, momentarily speechless, and Isabela couldn't blame him - excusing demons was the last thing she'd expect from Hawke.

"What creator makes possible the mechanics of blood magic just to shame it after and then throw a hissy fit when a little group of magisters uses it to bang at his door? And better yet, how petty a god should be to condemn the whole world to the Blights because of a few rotten slavers who were hated by everyone else anyway? To doom endless innocents to dying or turning into monsters he designed?"

 _Her sister_ , Isabela realized. For Hawke, blaming mindless darkspawn for her death would be no more satisfying than accusing a tree or a rock.

"And then leave his children to suffer and promise to return only if all of us scream his Chant for him loudly enough, like an offended child?"

The mage jumped up to her feet, that rare regal look of icy superiority arising in her.

"In the end, your Maker is either unable to control his own world, and then I don't see the point in praying to him, or he's a petty jerk, and then I'd prefer being damned for eternity than worshipping that bastard."

Hawke turned on her heels and walked away, her gaze so white-hot with fury that you couldn't guess was it a striking ice or a burning heat. The prince followed her with an astonished look, as if unable to decide whether he wanted to burn her at the stake or make her his queen.

_She's the one who could lead people, form a cult or start a rebellion. We're lucky she's mostly interested in saving kittens and playing pranks._

Isabela caught up with an angrily marching apostate, smirking.

"You'll be a kickass Pride demon, girl."

"And you'd be top class Desire one," Hawke grinned back, loosing the inner illuminance of cold nobility.

"Well, work on that gait a little and you can join me."

The mage laughed and, after a pause, Isabela said softly.

"Any of us could be on that spot. Heck, you can start being mad at me or Varric too, since I think we'd both fail you too. Do you really believe that it's fair to give a pass to a girl who's - as much as I love her - openly deals with demons and a guy who's so unsure of himself he wouldn't even try to resist, but be mad at people who were scared to follow you, but did it nonetheless?"

Hawke sighed.

"Let's meet Merrill and tell her she won't be needed, and then I'll go talk with Aveline."

"Well, it makes sense to choose the more masculine one of the warriors. But don't worry, we don't have to meet Merrill."

Hawke stared at her with that blank round stare that you could catch very rarely on her and that made her eyes look like gold coins.

"I have a hunch she isn't coming."

It took the mage another second and then she huffed, pointing her finger at the rogue.

"You knew you'd convince me so you told Merrill to not show up!"

"Well it's your fault it took you so long to stop being a pissy snob."

* * *

"Erica!" he called, looking down from the window. "Come up here, please."

He sat in his chair and waited, preparing himself for a difficult conversation. After a couple of minutes, she threw the door open - without knocking, as always. She was flushed and breathless from running, her hair ruffled and her clothes had spots of dust, ash and grass all over her, and few feathers stuck in her lousy ponytail.

"Erica, look at yourself!"

"Sorry, Dad. I'll wash before Mom sees me."

"The point is in being clean, not hiding from your Mother."

"Well, if I knew you're going to lecture me on my looks, I'd take time to clean myself. I thought it was going to be something important."

"Sit down," Malcolm said with a sigh. His willful daughter nested herself in a chair in front of him, legs tucked in, placing her elbows on her scrapped bony knees.

"This talk is important, so please, be serious. I'm going to tell you about demons."

She leaned forward, her eyes flaring up with excitement. She was the only one of their children who got the amber eye color from him the twins had their mother's shade of blue.

"Some demons are very primitive, such as Rage and Hunger ones. They'll try to straight up fight you. Some are… more sophisticated."

"They'll try to sell you blood magic for your soul!"

"Well yes, but not only that. They can offer a great many things and some of them can look harmless. But don't believe it. There can be no honest deal with a demon."

She nodded solemnly, her lips pressed tight.

"In the Fade, demons can see your weaknesses, your dreams and fears. Different kinds of demons prey on different types of persons."

"Oh, oh, I know, mine is Pride! Because I'm too proud! But I figured it out! I know that even though I'm awesome, I'm not better than others. Because everyone is awesome in their own ways and in the end we all are equal!"

Malcolm shook his head and tried to hide a smile.

"Well, of course you're right and it is an important point to make. But if for once you'd let me finish, I was going to tell you that Pride is not a demon who'll come after you."

"Um, why?"

"Demon's names echo not the most prominent aspect of the people they'll seek, but the most hurt. Repressed, underdeveloped and denied."

"But how..."

"Pride demons offer power to  _prove yourself_. Their victims are people who are insecure, hurt or humiliated, who think that they deserve better, but feel themselves unable to achieve their goals."

"Got it. Pride demons are for weak cowards."

Malcolm closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Erica is bright and quick-witted, but too prone to fast and harsh judgements. It will help her in situations when there's a need for taking an immediate and hard decision, but she'll have to learn to look deeper and re-evaluate her opinions.

"No. And you threw two completely different motivations in one pile. Weak ones will want to hold their power over others, to be feared, to rule. But the ones driven by fear do not essentially wish to hurt others, merely to be protected themselves. This does not necessarily means that they are weak."

"But you said they are helpless and can't do anything by themselves!"

"This is not what I said. I said that they  _feel_ themselves weak. Even strong and competent people might believe they are helpless, if the world was cruel to them. Can you do much to help yourself when you're ill or badly hurt?"

"But why turn to demons? Why don't they just ask for help? "

"They might be ashamed and they don't want to be seen as weak."

"But there is no shame in asking for help when you need it!"

"Of course not. But sadly, there are too many ill-natured people in the world who will try to use a brief helplessness for their advantage and far less of those who'd actually help."

She frowned and looked down, forced to face the fact that the world doesn't meet her standards of perfection. But she resolved the issue momentarily, looking up and raising her chin.

"I'll always help!"

 _Yes, sadly, you will_ , Malcolm thought, looking into her determined bright eyes.

It wasn't true that he loved Erica more than the twins. His love for each of his children was so much bigger than he himself that he couldn't even try to measure it. But his eldest required much more active attention. She already possessed the charisma of a natural leader - other children flocked around her and followed her in every new village the family settled in. She was stubborn, self-willed, competitive and brash - those features alone would make her life complicated and troubled. But unfortunately, she also inherited his magic - a burden of responsibility that he desperately wished none of his kids had to carry. So now he had to do all he could to teach her, to help her avoid the many mistakes and scars that he made.

"Yes, but others might not be aware of it or were burned too often in the past to trust again."

"Why are you telling me this? Do you want to excuse  _blood mages_?"

The disgust in her voice almost cheered him up. If anything, at least he was sure she won't take this path.

"I want you to be able to recognize when someone is in danger of a dire mistake and prevent it."

She folded her arms and puffed her lips, looking unconvinced.

"Please, daughter. Even if you don't understand everything that I'm saying now, try to remember it. It might be very important in your future."

She sighed and straightened up, furrowing her brows.

"Desire demons are different. They prey on repressed needs, they offer people something that they were denied for a long time."

"So it's easy, you just need to do everything you want and then they can't do anything!"

"It's not so simple, child. Sometimes we lose something or someone who we cherished without any reason, and it's very painful and unfair. And when you're hurting, you can't think straight, you're just angry and want it back, because you didn't deserve this pain. In this moment of weakness demons might exploit even the strongest people. Or perhaps you'll think that someone is just foolish and doesn't know what's good for them, that you can easily fix it because you're right and mean well."

"I'm totally confused and all this doesn't make any sense," Erica said with her usual straightforwardness and Malcolm smiled.

"It's alright, you will get it when you grow up. Just remember what I said and try to think about it. Now go, clean up before Mother can see you in such an un-noble state."

She beamed and ran away and he sighed.

_My little fire bird, I hope you'll never need all these lectures, but if you ever do, I hope I'll have time to give you enough..._

* * *

I walked into his mansion in the late evening, when the last sunlight was fading over the sea. I never liked this house. Even in the mornings, it reminded me of the lake's bottom - rare sun rays with dust slowly swirling inside, piercing the deep shadows, creating shimmering patterns on decaying faded furniture. In the night, it was even worse - ascending the crumbling stairwell, I felt like I was moving through cursed ruins, swallowed by time and silence, chilly whispery darkness weighing down on me. And in the end of the way, there was a ghost waiting for me.

Fenris stood very still, straight and somber, wearing a plain white shirt instead of his battle tunic. He looked even more otherworldly than usual, with moonlight giving his white hair a cold silver gleam and the fire behind his back carving dramatic shadows on his already angular features. He met my eyes and stepped forward, swallowing hard.

"I've been thinking about what happened in the Fade."

Up close I could see that the shadows under his eyes weren't just from the light - there were prominent dark circles and skin stretched tiredly.

"That a demon could have played so easily on my fears… disturbs me," his voice faltered and he looked away for a second, but then met my eyes again, his tone determined. "I failed you. I won't let that happen again."

I sighed.

"Remember when we first met and you asked me to help kill your master? You met us outside of this mansion and told me to be cautious. And then you started yelling the moment we entered the door. Frankly, for some time it made me think that you're not the sharpest tool in the shed. That, and the fact it took you so long to recognize I'm a mage. It puzzled me after I got to know you better, because you  _are_ bright, cautious and observant. And then I realized. You  _wanted_ him to flee."

Fenris inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening.

"Even with my support, you were afraid to face him. You still are."

He looked down, with a pained crease between knitted eyebrows.

"I saw you stand up against monsters five times bigger than you and charge a dragon who almost killed you, half-unconscious. I know you're not a coward."

He finally looked me in the eyes.

"It's not my life I'm afraid to lose. It's myself," he stumbled, cringing, his voice hoarse. "I can't become this… thing again. I can't bear even memories of what I was."

I couldn't imagine what he must have felt. Losing myself never seemed possible to me, for me dilemma formulated in "life or freedom" and the choice here was clear. But still, I tried to understand what he was going through.

"Fenris, it won't happen," I said slowly and firmly, choosing words carefully. "He's just another blood mage slaver that we hunt every other week. He has no power over you. You changed. You should be proud that you climbed out of the pit life threw you into. He can't break you anymore."

"There's nothing that I'd wanted more than for you to be right," he said quietly, still not looking at me.

"In the Fade, you said you want to face him as an equal," I said softly and he jerked his head away, hiding his eyes under fallen bangs, his lips twisted in shame. "But it's impossible. You'd be too good for that even if you fall."

He looked up abruptly, his eyes conflicted. I gave him a crooked smirk, shrugged and turned to walk away when he said

"I recall you owe me a neck-rub."

He tried to sound humorously, but even his tone was too tense. It had a hidden question - "are we still together?" - I could read it in the strain and concern in his lopsided smirk, eyebrows slightly raised in tentative hope, vulnerability of reaching out in his distraught eyes. He didn't want me to leave him right now, alone and haunted.

Wait, how did you even see all of this in a single glance?

' _You'll notice when you feel the same...'_

Nonsense, it's just that he's really expressive and we spent years grimacing at each other.

"Oh well," I said, shrugging and faking a sigh. "Gotta always pay my debts, right?"

Relief washed over his face and for the first time today sun lit up in his eyes, so I couldn't help but smile back.

_Damn, we really need to do something about this disarming effect..._

When he settled down on the bench in front of the fireplace, I stood behind him and placed my hands on his shoulders, looking at the fluffy cloud in front of me.

_Aww, to the void with that!_

I rested my chin on top of his head and he froze for a moment, but then he loosened up and leaned a little against me. I started to rub his shoulders gently and felt the tense lean strength of his muscles starting to relax slowly.

_Okay, it's still not hot steamy action, but we're definitely moving there. Perhaps in just another three years we get to kiss!_

"So, what happened in the Fade eventually? Anders said you sent him away to talk with the boy alone."

"Yeah… It's that the only available option for him to learn to control his powers is Tevinter, sadly. So I gave him a compilation of all the lectures my Dad gave me about responsibility for magic and all that. How it's gonna be hard, but he shouldn't let the magisters influence him."

"And you think he'll be able to resist?"

"I hope so. He seems to be a good kid. He was a bit pissed at me for sending him to the Circle instead of the Dalish, but he got over it when I explained myself."

"Ah, yes. I remember being surprised you did so."

"Oh, right, we didn't talk back then. By the way, why did you think I did it then?"

"Well, I thought you're completely irrational and nonsensical at the time, so I just assumed there was a random fluctuation in your mood."

"So you thought I'm an idiot? Great."

"Let's say I thought you're lucky you're so beautiful."

I chuckled, shaking my head.

"But why did you actually send him to the Circle?"

"Well, as I told him, I'd be happy to let him go to the elves, but the only available Dalish clan has a Keeper who just dumped her blood mage apprentice on me and a creepy demon idol nearby, so it didn't seem like a great choice."

"Reasonable enough from your point. As for the boy, we shall see what he becomes, and if he regrets the mercy you provided."

I sighed, running my fingers over the sides of his neck and inducing a barely audible rumbling moan from him.

"Fenris, do I not see people for what they really are?"

"Of course," he answered without hesitation. "If you did, you wouldn't keep the possessed deserter and the blood mage in your company."

"Hey!"

"You asked," he shrugged and I pinched him.

"You believe the world is better than it is, but it's not all bad. How can things change for the better, if there's no one who can imagine how 'better' should look like?"

"But not if it means being blind to the present."

"I'd prefer to live in your world," he said quietly and seriously, but then his tone lightened. "Everyone'd have a mabari, the most malicious thing mages could do would be turning boots into frogs and I believe I'd finally acquire a taste for fish, an armor of proper fashion and smaller eyebrows."

_With what I can feel under your shirt right now, you'd acquire no clothing at all..._

"I wouldn't change your eyebrows," I said, chuckling, and circled my arms around his neck.

"Really? Well, one step less on the road to perfection."

He placed his hand over mine and stroked it thoughtfully.

"Perhaps you could try that ear trick you spoke about?"

I blinked in surprise and sat down on the bench next to him to look him in the eyes.

"Are you sure?"

Fenris shrugged with a lopsided grin.

"Even if it doesn't help, it shouldn't hurt, right?"

"I mean, you seemed really unsettled by it back then."

His smirk softened, but his strangely intense gaze focused on me. He reached out slowly and caught my chin, then gingerly trailed his fingers up my cheek, then finally tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and smiled with an absent-minded satisfaction.

I just stared at him with raised eyebrows and he finally said, without moving his hand away.

"It's easier to accept a different meaning behind the same gesture after you've experienced the intent yourself and been able to act on it."

_Whaaaat?_

I think he said that since he wanted to stroke me behind the ear himself and just did it, he doesn't mind? But what "different meaning behind the same gesture" could there be?

_Man, the simpler the subject, the more sophisticated Fenris gets. I hope we'll never argue over who's doing the dishes or he'll drive me into an existential crisis with philosophical rants._

I sighed and leaned a little into his palm, and suddenly something changed in his eyes, like a dark green sea depth losing the playful translucent gleam when the sun hides for a moment. His fingers tensed and he leaned forward, tilting his head a little, but caught himself in the last moment, coughing embarrassingly and taking his hand away.

_Wow, that was close. Maybe it won't take three years after all..._

"Fine then," I said softly and stood up, circling him to stand behind the bench.

Okay, where did she say that spot was? I hope I don't strike some instant killing spot instead… Err,  _imagine a line from the tip of the ear down to the base that will divide it into two equal parts…_  A-ha, I think it's there…  _Then press lightly and move clockwise…_

His body went limp, like some inner ties were cut. His head bobbed down and his shoulders fell back, leaning on me, like a puppet with its threads loose.

"Maker's breath, are you alright?!"

"Perfectly fine," he sounded a little hazy, but coherent. "No need for shouting."

"But you just..."

"I believe it worked. Quite relaxing indeed. Go on."

I stroked behind his ear absent-mindedly, which prompted a vaguely approving low rumbling.

_I dont think it was supposed to work this way… Well, maybe he only has two states - tense as a bow-string and barely awake lump. Wait a minute..._

"Fenris?"

"Mmmmph?"

"Did you even sleep last night?"

"Couldn't. Nightmares."

That's it then. Too much stress and sleep deprivation, so "relaxing" turned into "collapsing".

"You can't just stop sleeping!"

"It's fine," he muttered absently."I'll just drink until I pass out. Always works."

_Oh, Maker's breath!_

"You know what, let's get you to bed."

He tensed up a bit, but didn't protest and stood up shakily, his eyelids lowered.

_Can he even walk right now?_

Hastily, I put my arm around his waist and, with me supporting him like this, we walked across the room to his narrow bed. There I started pulling away, but suddenly his arm tightened around me. I looked up at him in confusion. He half-sat on the bed, his knee resting here, and he didn't look like he couldn't support himself.

_Well, you're apparently able to keep your balance, so why do you…_

Then I met his eyes and lost my trail of thought. He looked at me from under half-closed lids, his eyes hazy and deep green, lips slightly parted, his hand, warm and firm on my waist, pulling me down. I felt my throat go dry, swallowed and saw his gaze flick over my lips. In the dark shadows, with only shimmering fire light from the other side of the room, his eyes gleamed with intoxicating, almost feverish anticipation.

But there was something even more unusual in him right now - something bordering on timidness or resignation, his features soften in a way more resembling passivity than comfort, and he avoided directly meeting my gaze. The lack of stubbornness and glaring focus in his eyes weirdly unsettled me.

"You look like a drunk racoon," I croaked, jerking away awkwardly. "You really need to sleep."

After a second of hesitation Fenris let me go, sliding back to the bed. When he settled on the pillow, this hazy seductiveness and strange compliance vanished, and he instantly turned into a grouchy disheveled owling.

"I told you, I can't sleep."

I grinned. Grumpiness was good, I knew how to deal with grumpiness.

"Bullshit, you're barely awake right now."

"I won't be able to hear if someone enters. What if slavers come?"

I rolled my eyes, but didn't say anything and whistled loudly instead. In a second Rex rushed into the room, barking excitedly, obviously tired of waiting for me near the stairwell where I Ieft him.

"Guard," I told him, nodding at Fenris, and turned to the elf. "There. He'll hear anyone a street away."

He blinked in surprise and then smiled with an awkward gratefulness.

"Thank you. You didn't have to..."

"No!" I yelled, noticing that my mabari quietly climbed on the bed. "Get down and stay on the floor!"

At Fenris' feet, Rex curled into the smallest ball the over-sized warhound could manage and pressed his head to the elf's knees, sighing like a martyr.

"Well, it's alright, I guess..." the elf started, but I cut him off.

"No, it's not! You don't know what you're talking about. In half-an-hour, he'll be lying on your pillow and you'll be lying on the floor."

Rex looked up at him with big wet eyes and whined tragically.

"Whimpering, really? I'm ashamed of you!"

"You can stay," the elf said, smiling, and I groaned.

"You're gonna regret trusting this manipulating bastard, you fool."

"Well, then it seems I'll never learn," he answered with a crooked grin. I sighed.

"Get good rest. Rex, don't let him get up until it's at least noon tomorrow."

He smiled sleepily, obviously struggling to keep awake, soft sunshine in his eyes muted by almost closed lashes and disheveled bangs. But now it was his usual tentative tenderness looking out from behind an awkward pride, so I grinned back.

"Thank you… for everything."

"Nah, it's ok. Just remember, you're not allowed to have bad dreams tonight."

He smile grew wider and I couldn't help myself. I leaned in, quickly planted a kiss on the tip of his nose and walked out, grinning when he breathed out hoarsely behind my back.

* * *

"Congratulations. You've handled it well," the pleasant voice I hoped to never hear again said out of nowhere.

"Get out of my dream."

"How rude. And here I was trying to satisfy your taste with a view."

I stood on a steep slope of a volcano, obsidian black rocks around creating a sharp-edged silhouette. Between them, flowing slowly from a crater at the top, crept torrents of lava - swirling bright azure streams, illuminating an eerie glow.

"Very subtle hint that you can get into my head."

"Nothing like that. "It's not like you didn't know that any demon can read thoughts and dreams of mortals. Fortunately, very few know how to use it efficiently."

"Fortunately?"

"I wouldn't want competition. So, as I said, the situation was resolved very productively. You learned that I was right…"

"No, you weren't."

"...and that your supposed friends can betray you at any moment, if you don't control them."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, shut up."

"Don't be so upset. It will bring you benefits too. It's useful to have honorable people betray you once and be forgiven. The next time, in a crisis, their guilt will keep them loyal even if they don't approve of your decision."

"I don't need your advice on how to treat my friends."

"Oh, but you do..."

Blue lyrium veins flared up and started to spiral around me.

"Your branded wolf requires a careful approach."

"Don't you fucking call him that."

"Ha, I rather detest it myself. Wolf, what a boring cliche. This old master of his was obviously deprived of an imagination. 'Tis fortunate it wasn't he who designed the tattoos, or it'd be just stripes. You, on the other hand, have a very vivid imagination. This volcano metaphor is very refreshing. But you need to go deeper. You should learn to shape people into the concepts you want."

"What bullshit is it?"

"This is not bullshit at all. Ideas shape the Fade, but they also shape people - their minds. All you need to do is change someone's perception of themselves. This elf will provide excellent training material - he's already very confused about who he is. And even if you make mistakes, it won't be critical - it's hard to make his situation much worse than it is now. And I'll help you to make it better."

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll be grateful."

"Of course he will. He'll be grateful for any sense of stability. He's in a constant stress and anxiety right now, because he doesn't have any behavioral scenarios for this life - and especially for the relationship with you."

"Oh, I don't know how to act with him too, it's not that bad, it just takes a little time."

"No. You just don't know which pattern to use, so you try a few different ones until something works."

A few little obsidian bridges sprout up from under my feet, crossing the glowing blue steams around.

"He has to construct a completely new path, which is much more difficult."

Separated rocks started to pile up, as if trying to form a bridge, but quickly shook and fell into the lava.

"You see, you mortals are constricted by crude limitations of your meat. I meant bodies, sorry. Your mind is able to form new different behavioral scenarios easily until a certain age. Just childhood, actually. Still possible in adolescence, but it takes much more effort. For adults, it's nearly impossible. That's why people seek out partners who remind them of their parents or previous lovers, even if they weren't happy together - it's simply because  _they know how to act_  around these people. This is what your elf longs for - a scenario where he knows how to act."

"But he doesn't remember his life before the markings and the only way he knows how to act is… Maker's breath, fuck you! I'm not going to act like a slaver!"

"Oh, spare me your peevish hysterics. You oversimplify it. Of course, I don't tell you to put a leash on him. It's only a core scenario, the prime dynamic that you need to resemble. He wouldn't even know it and, of course, no one would use such a crud term."

"No fucking way!"

"Honestly, it's rather cruel of you to make him struggle like he does now, alone and without support."

"Will you shut the fuck up? He's smart, he can figure out how to live his life."

"Foolish, foolish blind hawk. Any identity is build on the acceptance of others. You can't be a lover without someone to love. You're such a confident brave hawk because your parents taught you that you'll be accepted no matter what you choose to be. And you think your elf will manage to build some positive identity on that nice self-loathing foundation he's got with your half-hearted joking compliments? You truly are astonishingly blind."

I gritted my teeth, trying to find arguments, but he continued again.

"Don't worry, I'll help you. I'll teach you how to weave him into the perfect fairytale you always wanted. He will be my gift to you to celebrate the beginning of our partnership."

"Screw you!"

I woke up while rocks scattered over the sides of volcano with a sound of his laugh.

_Let our formulas find your soul._

_We'll divine your artesian source (in your mind),_

_Marshal feed and force (our machines will)_

_To design you a perfect love—_

_Or (better still) a perfect lust._


	15. Here I am expecting just a little bit too much from the wounded

_But I threw you the obvious, just to see if there's more behind the_   
_Eyes of a fallen angel, eyes of a tragedy._

_Here I am expecting just a little bit too much from the wounded_

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, flowers were blooming on the sides of the road, the sea rumbled pleasantly at the bottom of a hill and to balance out all that positivity the Maker sent us Fenris.

"Vishante kaffas! What is this?"

"It's nature, Fenris," I said serenely, without looking back at him.

"It's yellow, slippery and it's stuck to my foot!"

"It's a wonder of nature then," I said even more silkily.

"Oh, I know this mushroom! We made glue out of it back in the clan," Merrill explained enthusiastically and Fenris groaned.

He was in the mood that Varric calls "brooding" and Isabela - "smoldering cool". It's an amusing combination of contradictions, cold spiky insolence and smoky glares.

"So you finally made a friend, Broody," Varric chuckled. "Though you have plenty of a kind living in your mansion already."

The elf grunted indistinctly, speeding up to catch up with me.

"Why are we going there, again?"

"Merrill wants me to hold her hand and look impressive while she's trying to convince the Keeper to give her some sort of sacred item to repair her mirror."

"So you're going to help her fix it, because it was a slow week for cursed artifacts?"

"No, if Marethari asks for my opinion, I'll tell her to do her job for once and keep her people away from dangerous things."

"Did you tell that to Merrill?"

"Of course."

"And she still asked you to come?"

"Yep. She wants to appease some old elven tradition, which apparently obliges elven authorities into giving you stuff if you do some sort of quest for them. So Merrill needs us to help her with that."

"So we're going to fight a crowd of monsters for a magical wrench?"

"Yeah."

"And then refuse to takeit?

"Yep."

"How does any of this makes sense?"

Actually I think Fenris has two radically different states of moods. Most of the time - and all the time when we had just met - it's "brooding", he's this sharp-edged mess of shards of blackened silver, kept together with sheer willpower, so tense that there's almost a visible electrifying field, sparking lightning every time anyone as much as tries to approach him. But lately I've seen another side of him - calm, confident and smooth like a ribbon of silk, with a soft and shimmering light of sunlit smiles.

"I don't know, it's you who's got the sticky yellow shit on your feet because you reject boots. I think you're more qualified to understand elven traditions."

"And you're following those traditions because the absurdity of it resonates with your nature?"

I groaned.

"Fenris, relax, will you? You don't have to have perfect control over everything and predict all the outcomes. Sometimes you've gotta let the flow of the world carry you and make the best of the circumstances."

He looked at me like I just slapped him with a fish.

"Excuse me, I foolishly expected us to have some purpose in our ventures, but I suppose getting beaten while meddling in blood magic affairs is a sufficient plan."

"Oh, for fuck's sake! I need to keep an eye on Merrill anyway, was I supposed to let her go unsupervised? And after all, killing a bunch of monsters is never a bad thing and we'll stumble upon bits of treasure on the way."

Granted, in the prickly silver mood he has a certain unique kind of charm. There's this blinding cold light, reflected off the sharp spikes, a contrast of explosive temper and freezing pride, acidic sarcasm and hidden possessive sadness behind it, the edgy sense of barely restricted danger and challenge. It all created a strange whirlpool of almost gravitational attractiveness - you couldn't not notice him, even when he tried to stay inconspicuous.  _Especially_ when he tried to. Didn't work on me in the early years, because I was convinced that it's partly intentional and partly it's just his inner jerk shining through. Now I could understand the appeal though...

"What's your problem today? Did a bird poop in your tea this morning? I told you, you need to fix those holes in the roof."

"No, nobody has pestered me today aside from you."

_Andraste's goggles be the witness, I wasn't even hanging around you today! It was you who started grumbling without reason and now it's me who does the pestering?_

"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize you have a Scowling Championship today. We'll try to get back early and of course you're welcome to practice on me."

But trying to be friendly with him in those times was incredibly draining. It was impossible to not slip into snapping verbal duels in about five minutes time.

"I… sorry, I didn't mean to antagonize you. It's just..." he swallowed and shrugged and for a moment his mask of irritation slipped, leaving uncertainly raised eyebrows and miserably turned down corners of his mouth.

… But if you do manage to strike through the defense of silver spikes, he turns into a morose bitter ghost. And for years I thought it was demonstrative overreaction of an incredibly short temper, but now I know it's also a flood of self-loathing and loneliness.

I sighed. I know that this aggravating insolence is mostly his incredibly awkward way of hiding nervousness, so out-bantering him doesn't feel good anymore.

But at the moment we rounded a cliff and saw some armored people standing in our way.

"Hunters," Fenris breathed out, abruptly stopping in his tracks.

_What? Why? How do you know? They look like just random passing mercenaries to me..._

"Stop right there!" The voice from the sky said. I looked up and saw a bunch of men standing on a cliff above us. The one with a sleazy mustache announced "You're in possession of stolen property. Back away from the slave now and you'll be spared."

_Maybe that awful under-nose bush is a mark of slavers in Tevinter and that's how Fenris recognizes them._

"Too bad there isn't one around, or maybe  _you'd_ be spared!" I shouted and flung a fireball at his feet. The cliff's edge collapsed and the hunters fell down, screaming.

_It's raining men, praise the Maker!_

"Just joking," I said, summoning a lightning storm, while the fight started around me. "You wouldn't be spared anyway."

 _Do those slavers have to be so obnoxiously evil out loud?_  I thought, looting their bodies after the fight while Fenris interrogated a guy he caught alive, twisting him into a sailor's knot on the ground.  _How does enraging fugitives make them easier to catch?_

Meanwhile Fenris snapped the slaver's neck as easily as a chicken's and strode up to me, looking pissed and determined.

"Hadriana."

Antivan Crows could be supplied for a whole year with the poison bottled up from his voice.

"I was a fool to think I was free. They'll never let me be!"

"Who is that?" I asked warily, trying to channel his exploding temper into a constructive course.

"My old master's apprentice." I guess today  _is_  the Scowling Championship, because his grimace was beating all the records right now. "I remember her well: a sniveling social climber that would sell her own children if she thought it would please Danarius. If she's here, it's at his bidding. I knew he wouldn't let this go!"

"Then why are we standing around?"

_Merrill's demonic mirror definitely can wait since we're at risk of our fighter spontaneously exploding..._

"The holding caves held slaves in the old times, but apparently they are no longer abandoned." He frowned, eyeing me grimly. "We must go quickly, before Hadriana has a chance to prepare… or flee."

* * *

Fenris smelled a familiar sickening smell the moment they entered the tunnels. Lavender. Magisters refined taste was offended by the smells their gory rituals produced, so they sprayed perfume around to cover it. Maybe for human senses it was sufficient, but for an elf it only created a more revolting mixture.

_Lavender - Hadriana's favorite scent and color…_

He knew what they would find in the next room before they opened the door. The dead body slanted over the stone altar in a pool of drying blood. The heavy suffocating smell of sugary lavender mixing with blood almost choked him.

The memories of Tevinter rushed into his mind and he tried to block them desperately.

"See for yourself," he drawled bitterly, throwing a glare at the blood mage. "The legacy of the magisters."

"They sacrifice the unwilling?" Merrill muttered with disbelief.

_Is it too much to expect from you to grasp the obvious right in front of you?_

"Is that so hard to believe? You are only a step away from it, yourself."

"That's not true."

Her naivety was aggravating and, in a sense, disrespectful to the victim.

_How dare you cling to your illusions in the face of pain, torture and death of countless innocents proving you wrong?_

"Believe what you like. In my experience, mages always find a way to justify their need for power."

_Nothing ever changes. They'll cling to any excuse to use others as fuel for their power, because this is what magic is - a promise of superiority. Deep down, all of them believe that this is right, that being given the possibility of power means that they are destined to use it at the expense of others, who are unworthy just by the fact of missing this gift._

The insides of his mouth tasted like dust, blood and metal. He barely restrained himself from spitting and followed Hawke into the next room.

All of these tunnels had too much of familiar resemblance to Tevinter. Sure, Kirkwall bore the legacy of the Imperium too - in it's architecture, and bas reliefs, especially with everything in the Gallows. But after the magisters left, it was absorbed and deformed by the locals, becoming something new even with the shadows of the past still hiding in the corners. These caves were different, everything in them stayed exactly the same way as it was when the tunnels were abandoned.

But the worst were the eyes of the hunters. They looked at him like he was a dangerous animal that went mad and would have to be put down. In the last years in Kirkwall he had gotten used to the bandits insulting his race, appearance, or anything they could think of, but slavers didn't care to if they offended him. When they screamed at him, it sounded like commands, like those you repeat at an enraged dog to get through it's fury. And no insults, just "slave" - without even meaning offence, just a matter of fact. This word lashed through him with much more impact than any curses of simple bandits ever could. Because everything he earned, all the changes he went through, none of it mattered, he was again a piece of meat, valuable only for the lyrium in his flesh.

His skin crawled under these eyes, he wanted to scream "I'm not a slave" back at them, but held in these pointless urges, helpless rage boiling up inside of him. He focused all of it on the image of Hadriana, her face standing in front of his eyes since the moment he heard her name from the hunter. The humiliation, the shameful fear of his deal with the demon, the restless despair that made him wake up from the nightmares and then lay sleepless at night, all of it was planted by her and Danarius and he finally had a chance to make her pay.

In one of the big halls after they killed another group of hunters, they found a scared elven girl hiding in a corner.

"Are you hurt?" Fenris asked, running up to her. "Did they touch you?"

She looked at him with panicked incomprehensive eyes.

"They've been killing everyone! They cut papa, bled him..."

"Why? Why would they do this?" He knew the answer before he even finished the question.

"These poor people. This is… ghastly," Merrill muttered behind his back and he felt a twinge of anger.

_Blood mage. How dare you to act like you're any different._

"The magister… she said she needed power, that someone was coming to kill her," the slave rambled, pacing around nervously. "We tried to be good! We did everything we were told! She loved papa's soup. I don't understand..."

"I'm so sorry," Hawke said softly. "This has been terrible for you."

"Everything was fine until today!" the elf said with a desperate conviction. Her tone was so familiar, Fenris had to look down to hide his cringing. The slave's desire for any sense of reason or stability in their lives, the denial of deprivation you're going through, a belief that if you just try hard enough to be what is wanted from you, if you please the master, you'll be safe and everything will be fine...

"It wasn't. You just didn't know any better," he rasped, finally looking up, and saw a sudden hope in her eyes.

"Are you my master now?" she asked, leaning forward, and Fenris stumbled back, appalled.

"No!" he snapped, throwing up his hands.

"But… I can cook. I can clean! What else will I do?" she pleaded desperately, staring at him with scared, but obedient eyes. He felt lost, sick from her calling him a master, her panic and the fact that he had no idea what to tell her.

"If you go to Kirkwall, I can help you."

The slave turned to Hawke, beaming with familiar submissive adoration. Fenris felt so mad that he lost all ability to speak for a second.

"Yes? Oh, praise the Maker! Thank you!"

She ran away, quickly, as if afraid that Hawke would change her mind about exploiting her.

"I didn't realize you were in the market for a slave," Fenris said flatly, turning to the mage with his eyes narrowed in indignation.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Hawke almost jumped, her eyes round and yellow. "I'm giving her a job!"

It took a second for that to sink in and then Fenris went from anger to embarrassment.

"Ah. Then…" Fenris muttered awkwardly."That's good. My apologies."

Hawke still eyed him in offended disbelief and said nothing.

He shook his head and walked to the door, avoiding her gaze, tired from being torn apart and disorientated.

"Let's find Hadriana and be done with this place."

* * *

Varric was worried. It's not that he thought they were in danger. Hawke and Fenris were cutting through enemies like, well, a pyromaniac mage and matter-phasing fighter through butter. Hot knife had nothing on them.

But the elf was absolutely blinded by memories, of rage and pain. He raced forward like a mad horse with blinders on, stumping everything in his way and, since Hawke was too stubborn and proud to move out of his way, Varric was afraid they were gonna clash. Badly.

_They were two people who weren't used to being in love and because of that they were getting mad at each other with the same speed as falling for each other._

Which was rapidly and the collision is going to smother mountains, dry the oceans and destroy what little nerves Varric still had left.

At the moment that Hadrian was sprawled helplessly on the floor, looking up at Fenris, who had just stepped between her and her staff and was raising his sword for the killing blow so high, that Varric thought he's gonna scrap the ceiling.

"Stop! You do not want me dead!"

Varric studied the woman with the professional interest of a storyteller. Her tone was desperate, but still bold, she was so sure that it wouldn't end like that for her. She wore elegant lavender robes, too fragile for fighting, and her hair was styled too delicately. Though she was obviously scared, she still thought that she was too good for all of them.

"There is only one person I want dead more," Fenris growled. Hawke silently watched the magister with a peculiar kind of disgusted irritation with a hint of curiosity, like she just found a bug she's never seen before crawling on her bed.

"I have information, elf, and I will trade it in return for my life."

"The location of Danarius? What good will that do me?" the elf asked acidly. "I'd rather he lose his pet pupil."

"You have a sister!" the mage said quickly. "She is alive."

That made the elf stumble. He lowered his sword, his eyes widening.

"You wish to reclaim your life?" the magister continued, barely hiding triumph. "Let me go and I will tell you where she is."

Fenris stood motionless for a minute, frowning, tense and conflicted.

"This is your call," Hawke said softly. Varric waited for her to continue, because usually Hawke says "well, this is your call" right before detailing a passionate speech about what was the right decision to make, but it's totally your call to be a fool and do something else. But she didn't say anything, just looking at the elf with quiet sympathy.

"So I have your word? I tell you, and you let me go?" the magister urged, already sure she's going to get away.

Personally, Varric thought it's the most bullshit deal he heard of since a guy offered him a monthly abonnement for morning songs from the birds nested under the tavern roof. But strangely though, if he could imagine anyone desperate enough to take it and so impractically principled to keep it, it'd be Fenris.

"Yes," the elf stepped forward and bent over Hadriana in one smooth motion, suddenly his face expressionless and his voice leveled. "You have my word."

"Her name is Varania. She is in Qarinus serving a magister by the name of Ahriman."

"A servant. Not a slave."

"She's not a slave."

"I believe you," Fenris said calmly, leaning back, Hadriana started to smile with relief, but then the elf abruptly plunged his hand into her chest. She gasped, but no sound came, though there was an unpleasant simultaneously creaky and wet noise, presumably of her heart being ripped out. Then the magister's body fell down lifelessly and Fenris straightened up, turning around.

"We are done here," he said flatly, walking past the group. Hawke bit her lip and took a step after him.

_Nope, nope, not now, Hawke..._

"Do you want to talk about it?"

_Shit is about to go down as messily as a drunk whore on a contused sailor..._

"No, I don't want to talk about it!"

Fenris spun on his heels, his face suddenly breaking into an angry grimace.

"This could be a trap! Danarius could have sent Hadriana here to tell me about this "sister," the elf waved his hands in front of Hawke, who eyed him with pained compassion. "Even if he didn't, trying to find her would still be suicide! Danarius has to know about her and has to know that Hadriana knows."

He finally faltered and turned around, looking down and clutching his fists.

"But all that matters is that I finally got to crush that bitch's heart. May she rot and all the other mages with her."

_Oh shit, here we go… We're in a desperate need of some wine bottles to drink and throw at the walls._

The elf didn't see how Hawke took a step back and swallowed hard, before narrowing her eyes.

"Let's not forget who you're talking to."

"I haven't forgotten," Fenris gritted through his teeth, turning to her. "You saw what was done here. There's always going to be some reason, some excuse why mages need to do this. Even if I found my sister, who knows what the magisters have done to her. What has magic touched that it doesn't spoil?"

Hawke's chin went up, her nostrils flaring.

_Ok, first, grab Merrill, second, fall to the floor..._

"Well, excuse me, I'll go  _rot_ someplace else then so as not to spoil your company!"

The mage turned abruptly on her heels and marched to the exit door, kicking up dust in her wake. The elf's veil of anger faded, his eyes widening in dismay when he called after her.

"Hawke!"

She strode out of the room without looking back and the stone door behind her back slammed so hard, it struck sparks out of the frame.

_Force mages are the worst natural disaster. At least she didn't bring the ceiling down._

Fenris inhaled sharply, radiating dramatic angst so powerful, that if they weren't in the middle of the wilderness, women would be attracted through the walls, and stormed out of the second door, back to the caves they just went through.

_Save it up, Broody, you're gonna need your best puppy eyes later to deal with Hawke._

Going after him didn't seem to be reasonable, so Varric sighed and went to the exit door through which Hawke had walked out. It was stuck. Varric tried to pull it open with all the strength he's had, but it didn't move even a bit.

_Of course. I wish dwarfs actually had the mystical power over stone humans think we possess._

Fenris would be able to open it, most likely, but Varric had a hunch the elf wouldn't appreciate a request of opening doors in the middle of his self-loathing session.

"Can I talk already?" Merrill whispered behind his back.

_Oh, right, I told her to not only never get in between Fenris and Hawke when they're fighting, but also to keep silent for at least ten minutes after. That was really useful today, any pro-blood magic comments could get her stumped just a minute ago._

"Yep. And Daisy, apparently Hawke has… accidently blocked the door. Can you... un-magic that?"

"I'm afraid not," the elf said, looking over the door thoughtfully. "It doesn't have any blood to command. I can summon plants to help and tug on it though."

_terrifying power of the forbidden magic._

Speaking of blood mages, this Hariana must have been a real prize. Fenris never uttered a profanity word in Common, not a single "shit" or "fuck", but mastered up "bitch" just for her. That's an achievement.

"Okay, I'll pull on the handle and you get your flower friends to help, on a count of three. One, two..."

The door swung open and Hawke stood in the archway, looking extremely irritated, moderately uncomfortable and just a little bit ashamed.

"Oh!" Varric bowed exaggeratedly. "Our kind leader decided to take pity on us and not bury her humble followers in the cave. She's here to show us the light of hope again!"

"How thoughtful of you!" beamed Merrill.

Hawke glared at Varric furiously just to stumble over the actual sincerity in Merrill's look. She rolled her eyes, quickly glanced around the room in what she thought was an inconspicuous manner and clenched her jaw at the absence of Fenris.

"Okay, if you're done complaining over one minute of waiting, let's go."

"Ahem," Varric said, nodding at the other door. "Broody went that way."

"So what? Do you expect me to run after him after all of this?"

"I think he's clearly in the middle of some sort of episode and he isn't handling the reality very well."

Hawke frowned for a second.

"I'm pretty sure we killed all the hunters in those caves, and he's not a helpless lamb anyway. Actually, I pity any unlucky bandits that could cross his way right now."

_Well, at least she didn't say 'Fuck this douche, I don't care if he dies and I never want to see him again.'_

"You do realize he didn't actually mean..."

"Varric," Hawke said flatly, glaring over the shoulder. "Shut up or I'll slam the door again and won't come back this time."

The dwarf sighed. Eh, at least he tried. That's more than anyone could expect from his shattered nerves. He hadn't even expected to survive.

_Difficult not to feel a little bit disappointed, and passed over  
When I've looked right through, see you naked but oblivious._

_And you don't see me._


	16. What you are is lonely

_You're only meant to hurt once in a while_   
_Who gave you reason?_   
_You're only meant to cry once in a while_   
_Who gave you a reason?_

"What the heck?" I opened my eyes to see an already familiar obsidian darkness. "I wasn't even sleeping, I was drinking with Varric in the Hanged Man!"

The demon's faint chuckle rustled somewhere beyond my reach.

"I have many agents and even more resources. It wasn't a problem to slip a sleep potion into your ale. Your dwarf doesn't even suspect anything. He thinks you'r just passed out from drink and exhaustion."

I gritted my teeth at the underlying threat. It could have as easily be a poison.

"So you just wanted to show off? Wasting resources, though I'd go to sleep in a couple of hours anyway? So much for your praised strategical efficiency."

"I think it wouldn't be terribly efficient for me to give you advice after you've already screwed the whole thing up."

"Thanks, I don't need your advice on how to hold my drink."

"Your elf. By the time you get home, he'll be there waiting, desperate and distraught. A perfect state to shape him into anything you want."

"Wait, wait, are you gonna… forcibly put some sort of command in his mind, or what, you slimy piece of disgusting manipulating shit?"

"Please, I'm not some crude blood mage to just rewrite a person's mind. In a sense, it'd be like admitting defeat, your own incompetence in finer methods. No, I'm going to show you how to do it yourself - without any magic, just words."

The rustling changed its tone, from slithery gravel to smooth silk.

"Tell him that hate is a poison that he keeps drinking by his own choice. Tell him that he should move on and stop spending his energy on pointless anger."

I blinked, frowning. What's the catch here?

"Sounds wise and positive, is it not? Because you mortals are in complete denial of how your mind works, it's just amazingly easy to manipulate you."

His laugh betrayed the rocks gliding down from under your feet to the abyss.

"The thing is, you can't control your emotions. When you bags of flesh are  _feeling_ something, you can't just stop or start feeling something else by choice. So if you tell your wolf that it's his choice to be angry and hurt, you're shifting the blame for it from his old masters to himself. Also, anger is a natural response to being wronged, it also helps him to not slip into depressing and self-loathing. By telling him that he shouldn't be angry, you'll subtly reinforce the idea that his pain is worth nothing and he doesn't have a right to stand up for himself."

I just stood in silence, blinking vigorously and trying to process all of it.

"Also, telling him that he should move on shifts the focus from him dealing with his issues to him trying to stop feeling what he feels. Which, as I said already, is impossible, so he'll feel helpless and deficient. It'll only make him more angry and miserable, and so a wonderful spiral of self-loathing will be cemented."

"I don't want him to hate himself, what the fuck are you talking about?!"

"Wait, we're moving to the best part - what he craves the most is acceptance and you'll give him it, but conditional. It doesn't even matter what's on the list, the core of it is that he's not good enough as he is. But you already have this lovely mage-hating thing going, so press on it. Insist that he shouldn't be prejudiced against magic, that he should stop blaming magic for his pain."

I frowned.

"You're doing this anyway, right? I just offer you a control over consequences. Desire for happiness will tear him apart and eventually he'll convince himself that you're right. Of course, he won't stop hurting and most likely move from distrusting mages like now to downright hating them, but all of that will only make him more miserable. Eventually he'll give up, convince himself that he isn't capable of making his own decisions and shrug off the responsibility for his life to you, hoping to finally be happy."

"He won't be happy."

"No, but he'll be yours. And you mortals in that greediness that you call "love" can't tell the difference anyway. Also, he'll have the closest thing to happiness he has ever known. It'll be enough for him."

I felt sick and nauseous even in a dream. When I was arguing with Fenris over magic, I never meant by it that his pain is his own fault. I never even thought that he could take it that way. But telling him that it's his fault that he can't move on and simultaneously that he can't blame magic… for someone so prone to self-eating as Fenris, it sure can lead here...

"He was told his whole life that he's worthless, that his sole purpose for living is to be used. That he has to pay with himself for every bit of warmth he could receive. He's already convinced that opening up means being hurt. Press hard enough and he'll fall down to it once again. Just call your ownership "love".

"What? No! I mean, he's so proud and prickly and..."

"His pride is propped up by his anger, not good self-esteem, so it's unstable. If you take away his right to be angry - by telling him that all his troubles were his fault, - you'll turn the crutches of anger into a burden and it'll crush him eventually."

I bit my lip.

"There has to be another way," I said, expecting him to deny - hoping that he'll deny it, because then it'll show that he's lying and this would mean that he's lying about everything else too.

But there was just laughter, like gravel sliding down the mountain side into a chasm.

"Of course there is, but you won't take it. It requires patience, genuine caring and wisdom, and above all, time, and you don't have anything of it. You like saving people in one big dramatic action, and that won't work here. To believe that he isn't an object, that he isn't hopeless, he'd need constant support and validation."

"Err, validation?"

"Reassurance that his feelings are normal, that his struggle is not his fault and it's okay to take as much time as needed, that his emotions are not a burden that needs to be hidden and do not make him pitiful and weak."

"Wait, he thinks that?"

"Of course. What do you think explains him being cold and controlled most of the time and then having such dramatic emotional outbursts? He locks everything inside, it brews until he reaches the boiling point and it explodes."

The evasive voice got whispery, scathing.

"But why would you even want to go to so much trouble? Do you love him?"

I stumbled.

"No! I like him okay, but it's not love or whatever."

"Then why would you want to devote so much time and effort? Why would you put his interests above yours?"

"I… I mean..."

"Or are you actually tempted at playing a gentle maid and fixing the tragically broken?"

"What? No!"

"Then stop fooling yourself. Tell him it's his fault that he's hurting. Tell him that he's still a slave. Make it easier for both of you."

* * *

I took a deep breath before opening the door to the mansion, feeling irritatingly conflicted. On one hand, deep down I was worried about this asshole roaming the countryside alone in the throes of broody anger, so if he's here right now, it'd be a relief. On the other hand, if he's here, than this stupid freaking demon is right again, and I want this snobbish son of a bitch to be wrong finally, so I can convince myself he's wrong in all of his predictions and implications.

Fenris was sitting on a bench with his head lowered heavily, but he sprang up when I stepped through the door and walked up to me, looking miserable, but determined. I stifled a sigh.

"I've been thinking about what happened with Hadriana," he started firmly, but then looked away, "I took out my anger on you, undeservedly so. I was not myself. I'm sorry."

He reeked of despair and confusion, intense and unstable like ball lighting in search of something to smash into.

"That's it?"

He tensed up even more, though I didn't think it's even possible, and his eyes got a brittle glassy look in them.

"If you wish, I can go." He said slowly, his voice leveled, with just a hair-wide crack in it. "You need not see me again."

_Maker's tri-colored beard, can you stop over-dramatizing for five seconds?_

"All I want to know is what happened in there."

He took a couple of steps to the side, looking away, his face expressionless.

"When I was still a slave, Hadriana was a torment. She ridiculed me, denied my meals, hounded my sleep." His mask of calmness broke with anger and disgust and his voice dropped almost to a growl. "Because of her status, I was powerless to respond and she knew it."

He collected himself again and finally looked at me, and I expected rage, pride, fear, anything but this devastating helplessness.

"The thought of her slipping out of my grasp now… I couldn't let her go, I wanted to, but I couldn't."

"You don't owe her anything," I shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. "And it wouldn't be smart to let her escape."

"It's just hard to accept that you're less noble than you've thought," he said with a quiet, wrung out voice and I sighed.

"So you threw a temper tantrum because you were disappointed that you broke your promise to a blood mage, who tortured and abused you for years, then tried to capture or kill you, and when she failed, tried to sell you a story with no proof? Dude, seriously, if you wanna eat yourself over something, these feather-gauntlets are a better choice."

Fenris cocked his head to the side thoughtfully.

"Well, when you put it that way..."

"And the noble thing to do was to gloat before killing her." He raised his eyebrows and I gave him a crooked grin. "I've been hanging around these noble types a lot lately, trust me. Stabbing people in the back and double-crossing them is totally ok and even heroic if they as much as mildly offended your dress a while ago."

"Does it mean you'd kill her even if I Iet her go?"

"Nope. It's your decision, and even if I think it's a stupid decision, I'd back you on that. You did so in a lot of mine after all."

There was a ghost of a smile, gone in a heartbeat, his eyes again dark green, desperate and restless.

"This hate… I thought I'd gotten away from it. But it dogs me no matter where I go. To feel it, to know it was they who planted it inside me… it was too much to bear."

He looked at me finally, there was hunger and storm in his look, it made my skin tingle and my breath hitch. And I thought he was overdoing it with random eyesex before. And it was such a unique, strange appeal too. I mean, it's not like Fenris wasn't hot like a red pepper on fire on a regular basis, you always got this sensation of a scorching tight spring coiled up inside of him. But it wasn't just that right now, it was a strange feeling of a pyramid of sharp shards balancing on the edge of the abyss. This unstableness and a sense of danger and disaster that's about to happen made your skin itch, you wanted to reach out and interfere - and it didn't even matter if you pulled it together or everything falls down, you just need to stop this nerve-wrecking uncertainty.

"But I didn't come to burden you further."

_No, I'm pretty sure that's not what they call it in the Blooming Rose…_

But he was an ever so reluctant ball lightning, he needed an invitation before crashing into you at full speed. Just a little push to throw him off the edge, a small spark to set the explosives off…

It was my pride that slammed on the brakes at first.

_Are you shitting me, you're not going to let him_ _**brood** _ _you into bed! Dude, I'm not a charity brothel!_

And what am I, a motherfucking tree for him to provide a convenient excuse for an explosion? I don't sleep with people just because they're in emotional turmoil, I sleep with them if… well, if they're decidedly and fully interested in sleeping with me.

And then I looked at him and heard the demon's slithery voice in my head.

_He was told his whole life that he's worthless, that his sole purpose for living is to be used. That he has to pay with himself for every bit of warmth he could receive._

He doesn't need sex right now, he just needs someone to be there for him. I don't want this to happen just because he's falling apart and doesn't know how to be close to another person.

But I also can't let him leave like that.

"Okay, let's go," I said cheerfully. "We can't just stand in the hallway the whole evening, let's get to the library."

He looked at me, frowning, clearly wanting so badly to accept, but afraid to "be a burden". There were also distant echoes of "not being made of glass" ghosting around. It was groan-inducing, I wanted to just grab his arm and drag him in.

_He has been dragged and pushed around too much his whole life. That's not how it's gonna be between us._

"Come on, you're obviously going to get wasted and you shouldn't be alone tonight. I have some pretty good wines and I need a drink too." I said, grinning reassuringly, and offered him an open hand. Fenris looked at me with nervous wide opened eyes, a ball lightning scared of the open window.

He started moving his hand, but then suddenly jerked away and I felt an unexpected big pang of disappointment. But he didn't storm off like I expected, he stayed in place, fumbling with his gauntlet with muted curses in Tevene under his breath. My eyes widened when the elf slid his spiky monstrosity off his right arm and looked up, his eyes still cautious, but without this haunted expectation of being trapped.

"I suppose I can resort from the best wines to just pretty good ones to save your evening," he said cockily, but took my hand gingerly, with a little awkward pause to figure out a comfortable angle, and something tugged inside of my chest, because the dramatic hurricane of angsty sexual tension suddenly vanished, leaving just a guy, nervous, but hopeful and warm. He's not a ghost, or a beast or a mystery; it'd be cruel to treat him like an experience, to use his pain and confusion as an opportunity for an exotic hot adventure.

I grinned, squeezed his fingers and finally got the first real radiant smile from him today.

"Shut up, you ass, and don't throw bottles at the walls."

After that there's none of his usual guards and prickliness for the evening. He tried to half-heartedly refuse to shed the metal bits of his armor, but I strictly proclaimed that I won't let those stupid spikes tear my favorite blanket and the idea of the blanket seemed to stun him for at least ten minutes straight, so he didn't even argue anymore. So now he was sitting in the big armchair, draped in blankets, cradling a cup of warm wine and smiling with disbelief and awkward gratefulness.

I remembered the day we met I left him alone in that creepy mansion of his master, confused and scared under the cocky bravado, and how many times he'd shut himself out, because he thought that people poking his sore spots is totally okay and a normal thing to happen.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't have anything for you right now." I looked up at the sound of Fenris' soft voice and saw that Rex had put his head on his lap and was making blackmailing puppy eyes. "I don't think that giving you wine is a good idea."

"He probably just wants you to pet him."

The elf cautiously scratched behind the mabari's ears and glanced at me.

"Is it alright? I… don't really know how it's supposed to be done."

I chuckled and rolled my eyes.

"Even if he acts like an attention-seeking puppy, he's a warhound. Short of actually poking him in the eye, it's really hard to screw this up."

Fenris smirked with the corner of his lips, but seemed to relax, his fingers running through the dog's short fur with a certainty now.

"Others would get a lap dog to have a permanent puppy," he mused absently. "You've managed to bring that out in a warhound."

"Hey! It's not like I raised him like that on purpose! It was just in his nature and I… well, I just let him be himself."

"Yes," he said slowly and smirked with one side of his mouth. "You have a talent for that."

We finished a bottle and got to the middle of the next one, when Fenris slipped into a gloomy quietness, somehow making petting an excited mabari look angsty and melancholic.

"Danarius and Hadriana sometimes let me have scraps from their table," his voice was distant and he didn't look me in the eye.

"She died too fast and easy," I said curtly.

"Perhaps. But I doubt that even if given a chance, I could bring myself to actually torture them."

I sighed and hid a smile.

"No. No, you wouldn't."

_And this is why I'm here with you right now._

He let out a short irritated groan and stood up, spooking Rex.

"It's a sickness, this hate," he was pacing, his hands making abrupt gestures full of pent up nervous energy. "This dark grows inside me and I can't ever get rid of it. And even when I had a chance to let it out, to finally get revenge that I had wanted for so long, I end up just being disgusted with myself."

"I'm sure there will be more hunters for you to practice on," I joked without thinking and immediately wanted to punch myself in the face.

_Maker's breath, woman, could you say anything dumber? Stop acting like an insensitive jerk with a terrible sense of humor that Varric tries to pass off in his stories!_

I expected Fenris to roll his eyes at me, but he frowned, looking determined, tense and just a hint of desperate.

"They know what I am. Let them come, if they find the courage."

_Look what you've brought on._

"Don't talk like that."

"How?" he snapped, stopping his pacing and glaring at me. "Am I supposed to forget what they've done to me? Am I supposed to forgive, no matter what?"

I swallowed an acid response, stifling a hot wave of rising temper, because for the second time that day even I could get that some things are not about me.

"Well, first of all, you are a *who*, not *what.*"

Fenris stared at me for a long moment and then folded down, like the tense bowstrings holding him were suddenly cut. His chair was already occupied by Rex, so he sat in front of it on the carpet and hid his face in his palm.

I slid down too, settling by his side, and gingerly put a hand on his shoulder.

"Sometimes I think you yourself don't even realize who you are."

He let out an exhausted bitter laugh and, without opening his eyes, tilted his head to press his cheek against my knuckles.

"Perhaps there's just not much to realize."

I ran my thumb gently over his sharp cheekbones and he shifted a little to let me trail his jawline.

_I don't have to be in love just to tell him the facts. It's just honesty. Best policy and all that._

"You are wonderful," I said softly and his eyes snapped open. "You're brave, smart, honest and just an overly amazing moody mess. These markings are the least remarkable thing about you." He made a small half-choked laughing noise and I grinned "I mean it. They're worth nothing compared even to the angsty caterpillars alone."

I brushed his brow slowly and he leaned into my palm, so when he blushed, I could feel the heat rushing under his skin.

"You're too kind."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. You constantly risk your life to save complete strangers and give second chances to people who don't deserve the first ones."

I remembered the demon's words, though it still stung, and shrugged with a crooked grin.

"Saving people is a quick deal and I get be heroic. Have you ever seen me drinking with these people afterwards and trying to convince them they're amazing despite them grumping back at me?"

He blushed even brighter and made this embarrassed giggle-masked-by-a-cough noise.

_This is the cutest. Telling him nice things is the most rewarding idea ever._

_Let's tell him more._

_You're drunk._

_Still great idea._

"You're such a sunshine."

"Now this is clearly just the wine talking," he rolled his eyes, but his fingers found my free hand.

"No, it's not," I shook my head stubbornly, squeezing his palm. «Remember that day on the beach? When I painted your face with ash?"

He blinked and then realization dawned on him.

"That circle around my eye with lines sticking out of it?" he asked with distrusting voice. "It was the... sun?"

Now it was my turn to blush, but I didn't look away, lifting up my chin.

"Could've figured that out way sooner."

He stared at me for another moment and then laughed, and there were no hint of sadness, just an uncharacteristically unreserved, fondly amused and warm throaty laugh.

_You know what, I've got the next best idea._

I shifted a little, leaned in and put my arms around him. He froze immediately, I could feel his heartbeat speeding up feverishly.

_Okay, maybe this wasn't such a great idea. Maybe I should have explained to him the concept of hugs beforehand..._

But when I inched away, Fenris made a small helpless sound and squeezed me so tightly that I lost my breath. He was shivering slightly, fingers clenched in my robe, and I started stroking his back soothingly.

"It's okay. It's gonna be okay," I murmured into his ear, running my hand over the sharp knobs on his back. "I'm here. It's all good. Everything will be fine..."

"No, it won't," he rasped stubbornly and I rolled my eyes, but he continued begrudgingly, trying to hide a smile. "But for some reason it still makes me feel better. What kind of magic is that?"

"Very special. To make the usual spell work, you just need to spend a little energy. To make this work, you need to actually care."

He gave up pretending to be grumpy and buried his face in my neck. His warm breath and fluttering of eyelashes against my skin stirred two waves inside of me that previously I considered mutually exclusive - "aw, cute" and "wow, hot". They swirled confusedly until being overlapped by heavy "I'm too tired to do anything right now" tide.

He suddenly tensed.

"How… how soon will I have to let you go?"

"I'm not in a hurry. And it actually feels awfully nice hugging you, so keep it up as long as you want."

Fenris sighed with contentment and relaxed. I ran my fingers through the mess of entangled white locks and said quietly into his ear.

"I was worried about you, asshole. Next time go brood somewhere safe."

He laughed softly, and the way the low rumble of it felt with me pressed against his chest was the best one in a row of The Most Rewarding Things.

* * *

"You know," he said. "I think I'm drunk."

"Wow. Who could've thought that you'd get drunk after drinking wine."

"No, you don't understand," he tried to explain, though his thoughts were irritatingly tangled. "Hadriana used to make me drink a lot of cheap strong alcohol and then gave me challenges that required precision. Walking through a room with broken glass on the floor, that sort of thing. So I guess I learned to shut it out. I don't go through the whole poor coordination, bad self-control or foggy mind issues. I mean, I don't usually. I think I might right now."

She stiffened in his arms and he realized how it sounded.

"I'm sorry," he said, cringing at himself. "I didn't mean to dampen the mood. Though I suppose today I've done it enough to flood the desert."

"It's okay," she said firmly. "Telling me things is fine. I won't start pitying you, I promise. Except for your taste, but that's old news."

He just smirked, pulling her closer.

"So, how does it feel, being drunk?"

He shrugged.

"Okay, I suppose. Though being not… in the best coordinated form is a bit unnerving."

"Don't worry, I can still throw fireballs, even drunk. We'll fight it out if someone attacks."

Fenris chuckled, his cheek pressed to her hair and his eyes closed.

"Why don't you do anything with your house?"

He blinked.

"Did I miss some part of the conversation?"

"No, really, like it's not enough that you're wearing that stupid outfit, but you don't even change anything in your old master's mansion. You keep everything the same. That place is depressing! Of course you're feeling down so often."

"I don't know. I have no idea what to change."

"I have plenty of ideas! Want me to help?"

He hid a grin against her temple.

"Sure."

"Hey, you didn't even ask what ideas I have? You can nitpick my plans for hours even if it's just "let's go to the docks to get beer", but when I ask to redo your whole house, you don't care?"

He grinned wider.

_Just don't let her know that right now she can get away even with finally burning these armor feathers..._

"The mansion has mostly a symbolic importance to me. The proof that I could fight Danarius back and re-capture something of his. That I could stop running like a hunted animal and make him run. I don't particularly care about the state of it. Material things are fleeting, there's no sense in getting invested in them."

"Fenris, it's a three-floor mansion. It's the opposite of *fleeting*."

"So what? I could lose it any day."

"How, if it doesn't finally crumble because of your negligence?"

"Well, for example, the Templars in this city might get a divine enlightenment that this loud insolent girl who runs around throwing fireballs in broad daylight, is actually a mage and then she'd have to flee the city."

She grumbled something, half-heartedly pretending to be offended, but her arms tightened around him, she shifted a little on his lap, placing her head on his shoulder and nuzzling at his neck. He stroked her hair gently and she made a sound that wasn't quite it, but distinctly resembled purring.

"Okay then. We'll get to cheering up your house tomorrow."

The warmth ran through his veins, an intoxication of both wine and affection. He felt boneless this whole evening, since the moment she took his hand, he wouldn't be able to stir himself to be on guard and suspicious even if he wanted, and he didn't. This whole day he had acted obnoxiously with her, dragged her through the ugliness of slavers' caves, made a scene and lashed out at her, and still she forgave him. He knew deep down that even when he came to her home, it wasn't just for apologizing. He couldn't bear to be alone, looped in his own misery and doubts, and wanted any outlet and distraction he could get. She didn't realize it that night after the Fade, even when he almost pulled her to bed, but he could see in her eyes that she understood it today. Still, she didn't give into his despair, but didn't send him away either. He didn't even think there was even an option for just being close, for someone wanting to make him feel better without asking for anything back. For his vulnerability not being used as a target. And everything that she said, it was overwhelming even by itself, but to hear it from Hawke, sarcastic and proud as she is...

She was there for him in his moment of weakness and shame, and gave him only kindness and acceptance in return, and now he felt that even she'd decide to turn against him, he wouldn't be able to fight. However, this thought wasn't even uncomfortable, it gave him a strange light-heartedness instead.

_I guess that's what trust means for me. I'll never be able to eliminate the expectation of danger from someone, but I can accept the possibility of harm and resign myself to it._

It's better to feel good for at least some time and then fall, then to live the long life of closed tense misery.

_Just please, if you ever decide to take me down, strike me from the back, so I won't know it was you._

He didn't say it, though, because as drunk and inexperienced in relationships as he was, he was pretty sure  _that_ would go over like a lead dragon.

He didn't feel just drunk, though, he thought, listening to himself. He couldn't grasp what was so strange for about a minute, but then he realized he just felt so… alive. There was an overload of simple small sensations from all directions. All his life he wasn't just shutting out drunkenness, he was shutting out pretty much everything. There wasn't anything that he'd want to feel fully when he was a slave, and when he was on the run, he had to be functional despite hunger and lack of sleep. His body was always a tool to be used, sometimes by others, a set of parts that required maintenance and had limits that he had to account for. He liked fighting because it was the only time he felt alive and  _whole_ , it pulled every one of his senses on edge, even pain was less of a sensation and more of a signal, connection with himself, grounding him in reality. It wasn't like that now, though. In combat, it was more of a hyper-awareness, crisp-clear picture of the whole battlefield and momentarily evaluation of risks and options. His own conditions were just another factor to count in. So, tiredness just meant that he was slower and less precise, but he was still in control and could calculate how much of a resource he had before he'll fall down. Now tiredness ringed in his every muscle, he could feel every part of himself, but the problem was that all of it felt raw, sore and sleepy. There was also none of the clarity, everything around was a mess, focus shifted from one sensation to another, his back itched, his legs ached, bruises on his ribs pulsed annoyingly. Still, he wanted to know how it'd be if he wasn't feeling like a pile of waste.

The mage shifted in his arms and murmured something almost inaudibly.

"Hawke?"

There was no answer, so he carefully moved fallen locks away from her face and groaned under his breath. She was sleeping.

_Of course, what did you expect after you get her tired, drunk and then silently brood for half-an-hour._

He sighed and ran his fingers gently over the soft waves of Hawke's hair. There was dust and streaks of blood, and he felt a sharp pang of guilt. He didn't want to move and really didn't want to let her go, but he couldn't let her sleep so uncomfortably. But he still felt dizzy and things around tried to start swirling from time to time, so getting her to bed could be not that easy of a task.

He hooked an arm under her knees and another one around her shoulders and stilled himself.

_I am one of the strongest warriors in the Imperium. I'm capable. I can do this._

He took a deep breath and sprung himself up. The room viciously spun around and he'd fall back over his head if it wasn't for his sense of natural balance and an armchair, conveniently backing him up.

_I am never getting drunk with her again when not in the general proximity of the bed._

He cringed at his mental phrasing. His subconsciousness had tried to set him up the whole evening.

Hawke stirred a bit without waking up, and curled more into his chest. Her mabari, woken up by the commotion, sat up and looked at Fenris with a questioning uncertainty, as if deciding whether to trust him with carrying the mage or not.

"I would die for her," the elf told him. Rex still didn't look convinced.

"She weighs less than the battle-hammer I once had, and I killed an ogre with it, with a concussion and a broken shoulder."

The dog made a short warning half-bark.

"No, I'm not going to treat her like a hammer."

Rex studied him for another moment, but then made a theatrical sigh and strode to the door, opening it. Fenris took a deep breath and tried to follow.

He managed to dodge a couple of treacherous chairs, but got a strike to the hip from the corner of an apparently vile table, when finally he faced his toughest challenge yet. The door.

The doorway looked too narrow for the amplitude of Fenris' occasional swaying at the moment.

He turned his side to the path, so Hawke's head would go first, and started walking very slowly, trying to keep as much space as possible between her and the wall. His shoulders scraped the doorframe, but otherwise he succeeded. He breathed out, smiled and prepared to battle the next door, when he heard a quiet, but firm growl behind his back and realized he was heading to the exit of the estate.

_Yeah, waking up in the abandoned mansion would teach her what being kind to desperate men will bring._

"I'm sorry," he said to mabari, turning around. "I'm not trying to kidnap your mistress, I swear."

Rex sized him up with a suspicious glare, but then went up the stairs. Fenris followed, relieved that he has someone to show him the way, because he had no idea where Hawke's room was.

His lack of planning almost condemned him to failure - stairs were even more foul than the doorway. He swayed and started falling back, so he staggered sideways and bounced off the hand-rails. He had to turn abruptly to get Hawke out of the way and slammed with his back flat against the wall.

"Vishante kaffas!"

He stood still for a couple of moments, waiting for the world to stop swirling and cradling Hawke closer. Fenris pulled himself together and started ascending slowly, one step and swearing at the same time. Then he walked through another door, opened by a reproachfully looking mabari, but this time he didn't even scratch his shoulders.

It was dark in her room, but he could make out a big bed. He almost got his head entangled in the canopy -  _why do people even put it over beds? what is the purpose of this thing other than to annoy?_  - but eventually he managed to lay her down, making sure to put her head on the pillow and not the headboard. Then there was a vague stray memory about her saying that she kicks the blankets off all the time and gets cold, so Fenris tried to tuck the blankets around her as best as he could until he was pretty much out of breath.

He lingered for a moment, fighting with an impulse to just fall asleep right there by her side, he stroked her cheekbones softly, tugging a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Hawke stretched up and said, without waking up and with a surprisingly clear firm voice.

"Carver, if you try to mess with my hair, I'll nail your nose to the dinner table."

Fenris smirked and left, managing to successfully dodge the doorframe.

"Are you already leaving?"

He started, almost jumping at the soft voice. Hawke's mother stood near the stairwell in long robes of deep carmine red with her house's gold sigil, watching him with ironical look in her cold blue eyes.

Fenris squelched his initial reflexive response of «Nothing happened!", though he could do nothing to stop the mortified blushing.

"Yes," he said as calmly as he could and straightened up, trying to look dignified and not as if caught at the crime scene. "Please forgive me for overstaying for too long."

"Oh, but you don't have to go. It's already the middle of the night, it's no good roaming the streets at this time! You can sleep in the guest quarters," there was an almost uncatchable pause, "for now."

Fenris made sure his face kept the same neutrally polite expression, even if he blushed harder.

_Is she doing this on purpose or am I just paranoid?_

This is the woman who walked in on Hawke sleeping on his shoulder on the steps of their estate on the last Satinalia and said "Get inside, there are probably already rumors that I kicked my daughter out for forbidden love." She is  _absolutely_ doing it on purpose.

"Thank you for your kind offer, but there's no need for you to trouble yourself," he said and started walking down the stairs, carefully and trying not to sway.

"Nonsense! It'd be no trouble at all," another barely recognizable pause. "And Erica will be thrilled in the morning."

_This woman doesn't need a spell to make people blow up from embarrassment._

"I live nearby and I could use a short walk right now. But thank you again for your hospitality."

He wished he could walk faster, but not swaying required slow careful steps.

"Ah, well, aren't you just as stubborn as my daughter. But for someone who works with her and lives nearby, it's a shame you never visit. Erica has told me so much about you."

"I suspect most of it was extremely unflattering."

"In the first couple of months, perhaps", she chuckled and then after another small pause asked innocently. "So you're from Minrathos, I gather?"

He raised his eyebrows, but nodded.

"I've lived there."

_Maybe Hawke had told her…_

"You have a very nice metropolitan accent."

It took him a second, before he stumbled, his eyes widening.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't..."

"Oh, it's okay. You couldn't predict… the acoustics of our hall. Also, it was nice to hear some swearing in Tevene. Reminded me of my youth. I also learned a bit today!"

Fenris was pretty sure at this point even his markings had already turned red. He stilled himself anyway and tried to change the subject nonchalantly.

"So, you know Tevene?"

"Of course. I had an appropriate noble upbringing. My children never learned it though. I tried to teach them, but Erica never cared for languages, and anything that she neglected was automatically counted as useless by the twins," she sighed, but then smiled, just a subtle hint of mischievousness gleaming through. "Perhaps you could teach her sometime."

He smirked.

"I don't think that I can interest her in that if she had already set her mind to neglecting it."

"Oh, I believe there are quite a lot of things that you could interest her in, even if I couldn't."

_Okay, I walked into that one myself…_

Thankfully, he already had reached the estate's door.

"I wanted to thank you," she said, and Fenris braced himself, because he came to dread these little pauses, but she continued without any hint of mocking. "For helping to keep my daughter safe. My husband always said that it's crucial for a mage to have a fighter nearby who could draw the heat away. Obviously I'm still worried every time Erica leaves for her work, but I'm feeling a little better knowing that someone with your skill is there for her."

He shrugged, clearing his throat and looking away.

"There's no need to thank me. I owe her a debt. Without her, I most likely wouldn't be free or even alive now."

"You followed her into the Deep Roads, a place, which I know from Malcolm, can cost more than just freedom or… life."

Fenris remembered the weightless warmth of sunlight spreading over him even when he was half-chewed by a dragon, that feeling had never left since.

He finally met her eyes, sharp and searching - he tried to imagine Hawke with a cold blue look and couldn't.

"I don't need to be thanked for finally having something worth risking my life for."

She kept his gaze for a moment and then for the first time he saw her eyes warming up just a bit.

"It was so nice to finally talk to you properly," she said with a smile without her usual ironical veil. "Please do visit us sometimes."

"The pleasure is all mine," despite his state, he managed a short formal bow, and she accepted it with a regal nod, watching him leave with a light heart.

_You must rely on love once in a while_   
_To give you reason_   
_You must rely on me once in a while_   
_To give you a reason_


	17. Just a little late, you found me, you found me

_But in the end everyone ends up alone_

_Losing her, the only one who's ever known_

_Who I am, who I'm not and who I want to be_

_No way to know how long she will be next to me_

I was nursing a hangover, slumped over the breakfast table, when Mom dropped into the chair across the table, beaming like a little girl who just got a pony.

"What?" I asked sourly. I know her. It can't be anything good.

"Well, first of all, good morning! Where are your manners, young lady?"

I groaned, stuffed my mouth and started to chew in the most unladylike way I could manage.

"Well, that looks particularly unbecoming on you since your suitor has commendable manners..."

I almost choked.

"You met Fenris?!"

"Yes indeed! And even if he's about as stubborn as you are - I tried to convince him to wait in the living room, but he wouldn't leave that bench no matter what, - but at least he was exquisitely polite about it."

I relaxed a bit. Right, they had to meet when he was waiting for me. Couldn't be that bad, I guess.

"...But of course, real character shows better when the person is drunk... "

_Oh no…_

"It was a  _delight_ ," she concluded, her glowing transcending over "little girl gets a pony" level into "Merrill sells her soul to a demon for a baby griffon".

I moaned and hid my face in my arms, folded over the table.

"How did you even manage to catch him? Did you wait all that time, without going to sleep, just to ambush him?"

"Well, excuse me, I've been woken up by the sounds of something blunt hitting the walls in my hall, followed by obscenities in Tevene, and you expect me to  _not_  go investigate? As if a drunken man carrying my unconscious daughter is none of my business?"

I just buried my face deeper and covered my head.

"I was worried at first, I mean the lad was swaying harder than the hips of a Rivaini bellydancer, but I kept silent because I figured if I spook him, he'll drop you  _definitely_. But no, he managed surprisingly fine, didn't even hit your head or something. I was impressed. Hey, are you planning to lift your head and finally look at me properly?"

"Not in the next decade."

"Our conversation with a young man was long overdue. Wait, is that a correct thing to say? Should it be 'young elf'? Anyway, how old is he? Hard to tell with elves, could easily be 25 or 45."

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know? He's been around for three years now, he risks his life for you about 5 days a week, and you've never bothered to find out his age? Well, forget the romance, that's just straight up impolite for..."

"Maker's breath, Mom! I don't know because  _he_ doesn't know it! I told you, he doesn't remember anything before he received the markings!"

"Oh, right. Hmmm, I'd say a couple of years older than you then. There's still this boyish adorableness when he's blushing."

"Mom, what did you do?!"

"What? It's your fault. You've never introduced to me any of the people you dated. I had pent up curiosity gathering since you were a teen. And it's not like I said anything terrible. After all, if I have a right to embarrass someone, it's a certainly a man sleeping with my daughter."

"Maker's breath, we haven't even kissed!"

"What? Why? Do you not know how? Darling, you should've asked me long ago, that's what motherly advice is for."

"Jeez, I'm glad I got "the birds and the bees" talk from Dad and not from you."

"Nhuh, perhaps I should've insisted it'd be me. Then maybe your brother wouldn't have joined the Order with chastity vows and you knew that "sleeping" with someone doesn't mean actually passing out in their arms."

"Stop it, Mom! It's just… You know, he was a slave, right? And the magister that had him was the nastiest piece of shit, kept him on the collar and everything. So, well, Fenris has… an intimacy issues."

"Maker's breath, poor darling! Then be patient and don't force it."

"Garh, I just said that we hadn't even kissed!"

"I know you, you have no patience or sense of subtlety."

I groaned and rolled my eyes.

"Alright, alright, let's get to the interesting part. The lad is head over heels in love with you."

"Oh,  _please_ , Mom."

"Oh please yourself! I know what I'm talking about. He had the biggest dreamy smile on his face when he was leaving your room. And it was the "Thinking up names for the firstborn", not the "I just got to grope boobs" kind of dreamy."

"Mom!"

"And from what he said..."

"Andraste's ass, did you  _ask_ him?!"

"Of course not! Who am I, a foul-mouthed buffoon like you? I was raised in nobility, I know how to arrange a marriage without ever naming the subject. Don't worry, I didn't. I  _can_ though, if you wish."

"What are  _you_ so excited about? I thought you wanted me to marry some noble prick. Isn't Fenris a bit… improper?"

She sighed.

"You are my daughter, you think I don't know you? You're a stubborn and free-spirited idealist, like your father was, but you have much less common sense. I never expected you to choose anyone respectable. Frankly, I was bracing myself for an apostate mage."

"But you tried to set me up with the Seneschal's son!"

"To shock you into finally making some decisions!"

I groaned and waved my hand dismissively.

"Anyway. It doesn't matter. I'm not in love with Fenris, so whatever."

"Ah. I suppose this conversation was coming up a long time," she sighed, steepled her fingers and looked at me over them. "And what are your criteria of being in love?"

I just stared at her, dumbstruck.

"What do you mean?"

"How are you planning to find out that you  _are_ in fact in love when it happens?"

"Um, well, it's just kinda… happens, right? I mean, it's gonna be big and bright and striking, so you just know instantly, I suppose?.."

Mom sighed and started rubbing her temples.

"So you think that you'll just meet someone and immediately get hit with a giant sign with "True Love" written over it?"

"What? Isn't that how it happened with you and Dad?"

"But that doesn't mean it's the only way it can happen. Besides, we're different people. What worked for us shouldn't necessarily be an etalon for you."

"Even so, he's absolutely not how I imagined my ideal!"

"Okay, then how did you imagine it?"

"Well, light-hearted, but principled, easy-going, but smart, charming, kind, free-spirited..."

"Wait, wait, wait," Mom held up her hands, "Erica, I'd honestly accept just about anyone you choose aside from an actual barbarian, but you  _really_ don't need a relationship with a mirror version of yourself."

"What? No! It's not mirror, it's… I mean… Ugh."

"Darling, please understand that I'm not trying to convince you to marry this boy. I just don't want you to limit yourself because of a false conception you get from fairytales and your overly romantic father. And I want to be sure there's someone who'll follow you through fire even if you started it yourself. There's no rush, but just think about it, okay?"

"Yeah, I guess..." I muttered sourly. and got up. "I've gotta go, Fenris is waiting… Andraste's firebreathing bellybutton, don't wiggle your brows, Mom, you're ridiculous!"

* * *

_Yahaha and a bottle of rum! Varric, where's my money?_ _I know from a reliable source that the elf went to Hawke's estate last night!_

_I'm sorry, who's the information broker here again? If you source was actually reliable, you'd knew that they spent the entirety of three minutes together in the bedroom, all of which Hawke was unconscious._

_Aw, whaaat?_

_Apparently they were getting drunk for half of the night in the library, then he carried her to the bed and left._

_You bribed her dwarf, didn't you._

_Dude almost threw himself at me._

_But really, at this point I'm almost convinced Hawke is stalling just to prevent me from getting my money._

_Your money? You think after three years this bet still includes only you and me?_

_Okay, what are the other bets?_

_I have all quotes right here. Let's see..._

" _Why do they have to compete? It'd be much nicer if everyone was happy." - Merrill_ .

_A treesome suggestion? That's my girl!_

" _I don't know, she'll probably sleep with both, and then marry the prince, forge an empire and get a religion founded."_

_Oh, little Carver, bitter as always._

" _One thing I know for sure - eventually they'll force me to arrest all of them!"_

_Aveline, our expert in the intricacies of romance._

" _You mean she and Fenris aren't married? That's nice, it means we'll have free snacks and booze on the wedding to look forward to!" - Donnic._

_You might not wanna hold your breath for that one, mate._

" _I don't think it's appropriate to gossip about our friends."_

_I think Chantry Boy has the hots for both Hawke_ _**and** _ _the elf, and just tries to not show it._

_I still can't figure out his dirty secret. Dressing up as Andraste? Oggling nuns?_ _There's gotta be something!_

* * *

Fenris was leaning on the doorway of his mansion in one of his lazily graceful poses, which was severely undermined by the fact that he was wearing an ugly brown shirt that was too small for him, so it was crunched around his shoulders and awkwardly short in the sleeves, and grey pants that were way too big and went up to his chest, where they were tied up with a piece of rope. Overall he looked like a dramatic actor, playing a prince in costumes donated by a family of beggars.

"Okay, what point did you want to make - that there's something uglier than your usual clothes or that you can make a potato sack look good?"

"And which of these did I actually manage to prove?" he raised an eyebrow with a lopsided smirk and I grinned back.

"Both."

He gave me a chuckle-covering-cough just as I expected.

"So, just a while ago some dwarf came by with a cart and dropped off a small hoard of paint jars, claiming it's on your behalf. I figured I need to wear something I wouldn't mind ruined."

"Oh no, my plan to get rid of the ugly feathers failed again."

I walked into his hall to the pile of jars in the middle of it, crouched down and started unscrewing them. Fenris shuffled uncomfortably on his feet next to me.

"It looks like it must have cost a lot."

"Nah, it didn't cost anything."

More shuffling and interrogative humming.

"Remember how shortly after we got back from the Deep Roads we boarded an Antivan pirate ship?"

"When you and Isabela were singing and competing at who can hit their Captain's head with a bottle of rum?"

"Somehow you sound disapproving."

"And you put a toy parrot on your shoulder, spoke in crooked voice the whole day and then you set this thing on fire and made it fly at your enemies."

"One of my finest moments."

He rolled his eyes and I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Anyway, all the goods that we... confiscated from the pirates I gave to a local merchant. Lots of Orlesian silks, Tevinter spices, Antivan poison. In return, he provided all the materials for our estate repairs and decoration. But it still wasn't even, so he still owes me, hence these are free."

"I see," he still sounded a bit unconvinced, so I changed the subject before he goes into loops of crippling self-doubt.

"Are these pants enchanted? Because I can't see any other reason why you'd put it on."

"The shirt was too short so I chose them to compensate for it. What's wrong with them?"

I rolled my eyes.

_And that's the whole Fenris in this. Thoughtful and practical in some things and completely blind to others._

"You need something to cover your head, if you don't want to switch from white hair to rainbow."

"I suppose I can find some rags..."

"Ugh, wait," I rolled my eyes and searched in my pockets, because he really could put a potato sack on his head with his level of not-caring.

I took out two red silken scarves from my pouch.

"These seem to be quite expensive..."

"We have a  _hoard_ of these. Mom ordered enough to go through one a day and still be set for the next ten years."

"Is it your crest on them?"

"Yeah," I rolled my eyes, embarrassed. "Mom said it's a dishonor to be seen even blowing your nose into something without your family coat of arms, so...anyway, I haven't blown my nose into these ones yet, so come on!"

I expected him to argue - I remember how he made a scene when I offered to put my emblem on his purse to get it back if it's stolen, but he just kneeled by my side without a word. There was a moment of hesitation on both sides, and when he wasn't handed the scarf, Fenris lowered his head in my direction.

"Okay, do you want ears covered or not?" I asked busily, folding the scarf and pretending that's exactly what was supposed to happen.

"No."

"Don't blame me then when you get purple ears."

"I'm sure you'll find it immensely entertaining."

I bit my lip and ran my fingers through his hair, trying to slick it back. There was a barely noticeable moment of tension, like a flinch that was caught before it could show, and then Fenris leaned into the touch, still tense and cautious, hiding his eyes and with a tightened jaw. I kept stroking his hair, very slowly and softly, babbling some nonsense about colors that would cheer up this house, and he relaxed, finally glancing up at me, with shy, but unmistakable pleasure.

It would have stung my pride to see him still freezing at my touch like I'm a threat, but I remembered how desperately tight his arms were around me last night, how grateful and breathlessly helpless was his laughter against my skin. But trust was a deliberate choice he had to make every time, a challenge he had to push himself through. Seeing the effort he had to put into it, it was amazing he was even trying.

"You're very brave."

He blinked and stared at me in silent surprise, raising his eyebrow.

"Trusting me with re-designing your mansion. And well, just on a general basis."

He shrugged with lopsided grin, still looking at me with surprise. Generally, it wasn't easy to get that look from Fenris - you throw abominations, monsters and other unspeakable horrors at him and all he does is look vaguely irritated or mildly disgusted. But tell him something remotely nice and  _that's_  suddenly a wonder he never saw coming.

"Do you mind if I blow it back with a spell?" I said, partly to let him not deal with the terrible matter of compliments, and partly because while running my fingers through his hair felt nice, but it was about as effective as trying to fit a haystack into a vase.

"Like that time in the caves?  _No_."

"Aw, come on, it wasn't that bad!"

He sighed, combed his fingers through his hair, pinning it back and down with careless harshness, and nodded at me. I put a scarf around his head and he slid his hands off. His mane mostly stayed inside, except a few stray locks. I tied a scarf and softly tucked them in. Fenris half-closed his eyelids and muttered quietly.

"It's not brave since I'm not really risking anything. I told you, I don't really care for the state of this mansion. I won't be upset even if your results are... not the most beautiful design imaginable."

"Hey, but if you're already thinking it's gonna be horrible, why are you letting me do this? You just don't care if I do it all?"

His eyes snapped open and got this deep intense focus that locked the rest of the world out.

"I care that you're willing to put this much effort in something just for me."

Something yanked behind my collarbones, stealing my breath and leaving a bittersweet taste in my mouth.

"Fenris, that's a terrible attitude," I said cheerfully, putting on a grin. "It leads to eating half-roasted cookies just because someone made them for you."

He shrugged and looked down, his grin struggling to be nonchalant, but actually betraying an almost sad wistfulness.

That's just not fair. Some assholes have everything from the start and don't appreciate it, and Fenris, who went through a life that sounds more like a nightmare, is scrambling for the scraps of warmth and…

"Okay, let's go!" I shot up to my feet and dragged him by the wrist "We have too much space to ruin and not nearly enough time!"

Okay, if that's the effort that counts here, I'm the gal for the job, I have tons of energy and I never half-ass things, because I'm a complete ass all the damn time.

* * *

Fenris wasn't used to having good time, he had good moments, sure, but they were rare and short, just a few minutes caught unexpectedly between surviving and being on guard or acquiring resources, when he'd stopped to catch his breath noticed that the world around him is beautiful. His memory was sealing these moments like they were a treasure to collect and sift through, like running fingers through a handful of pearls.

And only comparing these moments to the time he spent around Hawke, radiant, glowing like embers, like her eyes, made him realize that anyone else would count the minutes he treasured as moments of despair.

She got to his main hall first. Now on both walls alongside the stairwell there were vaguely rounded shapes in deep green tones with an occasional brown stripes (" _It's an Enchanted Forest!" "Because I just need more magic and monsters in my life." "Can you_ _ **not**_ _, Fenris? For like five minutes? As a grand romantic gesture, just for me?" "I think I'll manage six."_ )

There were also randomly scattered creatures, from which he only recognized dragons. There also were horses with human torsos ( _"It's centaures." "Are there any inverted versions? With, you know, human bodies and horse heads?" "No, there's only that one jerk with a donkey's head. His name is Fenris."_ ), women with long scaly tails instead of legs ( _"Mermaids!" "What is fish doing in the forest?" "Waiting for you to ask."_ ), flocks of mabari puppies with red fur and wings ( _"Okay, these I made up. But isn't it the best idea_ _ **ever**_ _?_ "), something that looked like a random compilation of different body parts of lion, snake and goat ( _"It's chimera." "Do they just throw random animals together and mix it like a salad?" "Kinda, but it should be scary animals." "It has a goat's head."_ _"Yeah, because goats headbutt worse than ogres!_ _Dude, I lived in a village, I know what I'm talking about!" "Really?" "Ogres will smash you into a wall, but a goat will stick it's horns below the belt." "Point taken."_ )

She didn't name feline creatures with bird's heads and wings, so he nodded at them questioningly.

"And these?"

Hawke turned to him and stared with open mouth and disbelief in her rounded eyes.

"Are you kidding me? It's griffons!"

"Um, okay then." She continued to glare at him and he added conciliatory. "They're nice."

"Nice? You don't know what griffons are? You spent three years around someone whose cousin is Commander of the Grey who motherfucking stopped the Blight, and you don't know what griffons are?!"

"I had a few more pressing matters at hand."

"Aw don't give me that crap, it's been literally ages since we started to hang out! You had all the time to ask."

Fenris snapped down the defensive answer in the last moment, because deep down he knew she was right about something. He  _did_ love hearing her talk about things she was excited about, but he rarely asked her to, because a certainty that he had no one who would care sharing with him was still engraved in his mind.

"Hey..."

He looked up to see Hawke standing next to him, and she reached out for him, but halted, changing the angle in the last moment, and trailed alongside his arm with the back of her hand, and this feather-light touch caused an avalanche of shivers to run through him. "Sorry for overreacting. I shouldn't have started yelling like you just pissed on the grave of my grandma."

He smirked.

"Well, after my own scenes, you get at least a couple of free minor overreactions like now."

Hawke gave him a lopsided grin.

"Do I get to throw bottles at stuff?"

 _She smelled like summer, the dry heat of a hazy noon, full of warmth and blooming herbs. There was a moment of summer caught in one the pearls of his memory, a field of sunflowers in Orlais. Thick stems grew high and could cover Fenris even when he was standing, and a lazy silence of a hot windless day, just bird's careless chirping and a low hum of beetles, would let him hear anyone approaching from far away. It was as not-dangerous as it could get for him now, and he killed the hunters just last night, and now he had some time before the next group would be sent. So he just sat there, thoughtless, purposeless and too tired to care, watching huge bright yellow flowers slowly turn after the sun in the high cobalt skies. He was there for quite a while, a lacy pattern of shadows from sunflowers' leaves moving over him, and it was supposed to be relaxing, but instead, a gnawing discomfort grew inside of him. He felt so alien, so_   _out of place_ in _this perfect pastoral picture, a spot of rough deformed darkness, all bitter steel and jagged scars, a scorched useless ruin in the middle of beauty, joy and peace._

"Only the finest wine for you," he forced himself to smile and Hawke chuckled and strode back to the wall, cheerful and bright, a sparkly flame in the shadows of the dim room.

"Before you tell me everything that is here to know about griffons..." she perked up, grinning excitedly, and he wished that humanity produced enough stories about griffons to last them a year.

"I wanted to ask… Is there such a thing as firebirds?"

She stopped in her tracks, staring at him with eyes wide open in surprise and a faint blush covering her cheeks slowly.

"Yeah… there is." She obviously tried to keep her tone nonchalant and just as obviously failed, her voice quivering a little. It sounded like something personal was grazed, but it didn't seem to be in a bad way, so he followed it.

"We need few of them on the walls."

She smiled at him, slow and wide, her eyes lighting up like glowing embers.

She was like summer, but not one of those he lived through. She was summer how it was supposed to be, a perfect noon, sunflowers blooming into the endless azure sky, where there's no place for charred ruins.

* * *

They painted over furniture in most of the rooms, because he knew he'll never use or sell any of it, so now most of the mansion looked like theatrical decorations of a comedy troupe. Right now they stood in the middle of a big hall that Hawke named "the ballroom", so it was now velvet red and gold, with curtains painted all over the walls ( _"It's not a ballroom if there aren't enough curtains for every pair of guests to have privacy. Otherwise it'll turn into a giant orgy and that's just uncivilized."_ ) Also, there were bows of all types everywhere ( _"Bows are all the rage right now, don't even argue with me on this."_ )

They stood in the middle of the room, practicing mocking courtesy in overly flourishing orlesian style, and managed to get their hands glued together, because they were covered in paint.

They had to stumble through the mansion in search of oil to unglue themselves, and it wasn't made easier by the fact that it was their right hands that got stuck. Also it meant that one of them had to be walking backwards. Fenris led the way nominally, because only he knew where they were going, but Hawke's nature couldn't let her to just accept being not in charge of  _anything_ , so she fidgeted, tugged, tried to look over her shoulder which almost made them spin around and generally made an already awkward walk at least three times more difficult.

"Can you stop jumping around like a sparrow on a grill?"

"Well, that's flattering! Poetic, even. Aren't you as great at complimenting women as leading the way!"

"If you're so capable, why don't you just  _un-magic_  this?"

She gave him an incredulous glare over her shoulder and almost tripped. He struggled to keep a serious face.

"If magic was actually useful, you'd be able to do this."

She tried to kick him and he dodged.

"I suppose years of missing that hit you could excuse as "bad luck" or some other delusion, but failing this when we're actually  _glued_  together..."

She let out a short battle yell and slammed into him with her whole body. An unexpected push forced him out of an already awkward balance and he stumbled, cracking his head against the wall.

"Maker's teeth gap, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"It's nothing."

It  _was_ nothing, even less than nothing for how he turned so spoiled in these years with Hawke. Injures that before were a threat for his survival became temporary annoyances, he got used to wounds mending after just a couple of minutes, and if it didn't happen, it probably meant Hawke was too busy being cornered.

"Yeah, well, I know you, a freaking concussion is 'nothing' in your book, so… what's so funny?"

He tried and failed to fight a smile, looking into her concerned eyes, bright amber speckled with gold, and she was so close, still pressed against him, he could feel her warm breath.

_The autumn in Antiva is warm and sunny, a kaleidoscope of orange and yellow, and a lot of bright flowers are still in late blooming. He's in the meadow by the forest's spring, and there's wild strawberry in the soft grass all around him. His right wrist is fractured from the unfortunate fall from the tavern's second floor, his ankle is sprained, he's tired out of his mind and he hadn't ate anything for a day and a half and he's covered in dirt, dust and blood. He awkwardly picks berries with his left hand - three nails are ripped off and he can't even recall when it happened - and they're so impossibly sweet, but there's also a metallic taste of blood and dust in his mouth. He tries to focus on the sweetness and not think about what will happen if the hunters find him, when he's unable to run, and though he has a one-handed sword too, he can't imagine fighting off several attackers with only his left hand. But there's nothing he can do right now, so he focuses on the sweet taste and the beautiful view around him and the deep vibrant smells of the forest and not seeing his own bloodied expression in the waters of a clean spring._

"It's no..."

"Fenris, if you say "nothing", I will kick you and I  _will not_ heal it."

He wants to kiss her so badly, it's a constant pull, hungry, aching and selfish, but all of his memories, even what he considers good ones, reek of hidden fear and pain, and he can't bring it to her, it feels like tainting her joy with bitterness, like feeding clear flame with damp rotten logs. He knows it's irrational, downright ridiculous, but it freezes him every time, crawls under his skin, and his smile is forced.

"Nose. You have paint there."

She eyed him suspiciously, but it's technically not a lie. He never lied to her, even if "not telling the truth" and "lying" are not the same things and "not telling the whole truth" is his permanent condition.

"Well, you have paint all over your face!"

"Because you splashed it on me."

"Because you said that bows are stupid."

"I didn't say stupid. I said incongruous."

"That's  _worse_! Where did you even get that word, do you read a thesaurus for fun?"

* * *

Hawke said that "this bullshit torn up doodle" had no right to hang in the center of the hall, right above the stairs. She left the golden frame, but got rid of the painting. ( _"It's a place for something_ _ **epic**_ _, dude. And nobody can do epic better than me. Well, maybe my cousin can, but he can't draw for shit._ ") So Fenris stood still and held a ladder for her, and he was pretty sure she only made him do it so he couldn't see what she's painting. He was mentally bracing himself for griffons, mabari or obscenities - or possibly all of those. He waited patiently until she finished and climbed down.

"Don't look yet! In the name of Andraste's gills, don't!"

"What? Andraste doesn't… You are ridiculous."

She finally straightened up near him, grinning.

"Yeah, but while you were startled by this ridiculousness, you didn't look at the wall, so mission accomplished."

He rolled his eyes and then she coughed, wiping her palms on her thighs and looking somewhat flushed, which from someone less self-confident he'd read as nervousness.

"So, um, now you can look."

He looked up, a skeptical grin already on his face, but it froze when he actually took in the sight on the wall. The drawing was crude, since Hawke was restricted by a uncomfortable position, and looked almost like a stick figure, but it was covered in spikes and had a white ruffled mess on it's head. It stood on top of a pile of what he recognized as dead dragons and had a giant sword stuck in the head of one of them.

"Hey, so what do you think? I thought that it's kinda dumb that there are all these portraits of these old creeps hanging on the walls, I mean, its  _your_ mansion after all. But yeah, I know it's ugly, so if you don't like it, we'll paint it over, no hard feelings, and..."

He reached out, slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer, hiding his face in her hair. She tensed for a moment, but then relaxed and put her arm around his waist, leaning into him.

"So you like it after all, I take it?"

He hummed something vague, still unable to look at the wall and not trusting himself to speak.

"I can  _feel_ you blushing against my skin."

It'd take only a slight turning of his head to catch this soft laughter on her lips, but even their embrace was burning him. The feeling of unworthiness crawled through his bones, gnawing and sour and  _deserved_ , flames dancing under his closed eyelids, fire of people who saved his life and fought for his freedom, fire that claimed their bodies after he killed them.

He couldn't bring himself to move, but he couldn't let Hawke go too, so he cleared his throat and rasped without lifting his head.

"Is my nose really so beaky?"

"Um, nope, not really, but the tip is kinda going a bit downwards, so I tried to capture that. You have a really difficult nose, you know."

Fenris laughed, bit his lip and buried his difficult nose in her temple.

* * *

The paint stopped dripping from the ceiling of his room by the evening, and we sat there on the floor, me leaning against the fireplace - the perks of being a fire mage, - and Fenris in front of me, his back against his favorite chair. We've been passing the bottle between us for some time, and Fenris went from awkward and a wistful smile to the grin that was just a few steps short of suggestive.

When he said "Care to hear a story?", leaning forward with a reckless smirk, I noted a feverish gleaming in his eyes, but didn't think much of it. But as he spoke, about Seheron and the Qunari attack, the tension underneath the calm surface was becoming apparent. There was steel in his eyes, not the usual guarding shields, but something vulnerable and silently pained, like glimpses of knives tearing the forest's leaves. I felt uneasiness and a distinct worry coiling up inside of me, and when he chuckled with grim irony at the memory of Danarius being forced to abandon him, I didn't even smirk back.

When he started talking about the Fog Warriors, even a pretense of light-heartedness vanished from his voice. I couldn't even tell what was worse - how desperately he tried to keep his voice flat or how hopelessly he failed.

"I'd grown fond of the rebels. They bowed to no master and fought for their freedom. It was... beyond my experience. When Danarius come, they refused to let him take me."

Fenris lowered his head and squared his shoulders, looking down, as if trying to curl up and hide for a moment, and then took a long sip from the bottle, before he visibly forced himself to straighten up and look me in the eyes.

"He ordered me to kill them. So I did. I killed them all."

He closed his eyes, not even trying to hide a pained grimace, and his voice shuttered, and, damn, it hurt, quick and sharp as a knife cut, and I almost thoughtlessly bolted up to sit by his side and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Fenris, that's… I'm so sorry."

He let out a breath I didn't realize he was holding and still didn't meet my eyes, but he took my hand, carefully, like it could break, and hid it in his palms.

"It felt inevitable. My master had returned and this... this fantasy life was over."

I felt so fucking angry. Even when we couldn't talk for five minutes without going into a shouting match, I respected him because he wouldn't back out of an argument if he thought he's right even if he was alone against people whose help he needed for survival. And that someone so proud, brilliant, maddeningly stubborn was reduced into a mere shell of himself, was twisted so badly, and Maker's breath, he's probably not "himself" even now, not really, maybe he never will...

He drew in a sharp breath and finally looked up at me, his fingers tensing on my hand and his eyes brittle.

"But once it was done, I looked down at their bodies. I felt... I couldn't..."

His voice broke painfully and he turned his head away.

"I ran. And never looked back."

I threaded our fingers and felt how his hand trembled just a little, and fuck, this helplessness was killing me. I almost wanted to make him stop, but I knew he needed to let it out, so I let him talk, his voice leveled, but his eyes dim. I was running my fingers over his in the lightest caress, and yeah, I know he doesn't need to be coddled, I know he lived through shit that would crush others, I know he can take worse and I know he can don armor of silver shards and lightening. But there are tired lines on his face, deep shadows under his eyes, and when he calls himself "unworthy", it rings too raw and present, because "It did not occur to me that I could be anything else until I had a taste of it" sounds too wistful and sad in his quiet voice, so fuck it, he deserves the softest touch, just so he could remember what it means to  _feel_ something and not endure.

"I have never spoken about what happened to anyone. I've never wanted to," he said slowly, there's honesty and a slight surprise in his voice, and the faintest hint of a smile in his eyes. We were sitting shoulder to shoulder, and his head is tilted slightly to me and pressed back against the chair, which left his arched throat bared, and that's ten times more unusual for him than laughing or even not arguing with me. And that's when I finally figured out this breathless feeling that wrapped knots in my chest. Tenderness, which is even more weird for me to show outside of the family than vulnerability for him.

"Perhaps this is what it means to have a friend."

And then there was finally a real smile, elusive and ready to shy away, but it's the spring sun glimpsing through the leaves now, not knives.

"Perhaps?" I laughed, bumping him with my shoulder, "This is what I get after years of searching for something  _not-fishy_  at the Docks and wasting countless quills teaching someone with a bad temper? I've been your friend for years, you asshole!"

His awkwardly faked cough, covering the embarrassedly flattered chuckle, was just too adorable for me at the moment, so I nudged his side again.

"Of course you're right, I didn't mean… Uh. Forgive me, I've learned to be anxious about presuming the extent of positive nature of how others might regard me."

It took me a couple of seconds to process and it translated into "I've been treated like shit all the time, so now I just assume people don't care."

Then he squeezed my hand and continued softly.

"It isn't fair in your case, of course, and I'm long past doubting your good intentions. But you are..."

Fenris swallowed hard and looked up at me, his voice quiet and serious.

"I... have never allowed anyone too close."

He looked away, and I could feel him shivering slightly for a moment. Something scratched in my chest like a stray cat.

"When my markings were created, the pain was... extraordinary. And the memory lingers."

When he met my eyes again, there is a promise of a smile tugging on his lips and his eyes are deep and dark under the shimmering of the fire light.

"But you are unlike any woman I have ever met, Hawke. With you... it might be different."

He gave me a look that from anyone else would seem lewd, but for him it was sharp interest with a hint of dare, which together with his low voice changed into velvet tones made for his special brand of seduction.

I frowned, biting down a remark about the uniqueness of pyromaniac clowns.

"I didn't think I needed anyone. Or wanted anyone. Until now."

He almost breathed it out, quiet and husky, and looked at me from under half-lowered lashes, so I really had only two options - jumping his bones right there, and that would be what my Mom calls "most inappropriate" right after the whole dead friends talk,  _or_ do what I always do in complex situations - joke.

"Bullshit! You think I didn't see you staring at me all these years? Though granted, you looked more pissed than appreciative about it."

He chuckled softly and shrugged.

"You're right, I suppose. It would be more accurate to say I didn't think I'd ever need to be wanted."

The scratching behind my collarbones turned into hooks that jerked the breath out of me.

"You are."

* * *

"Andraste's flaring nostrils, what a stink! This paint is made of Qunari's lethal powder or what? How did we even sleep with that smell?! Speaking of which, why did you sleep in a freaking armchair, is there not a single other bed in this whole damn mansion?!"

Hawke always was in bad mood in the mornings, but now she was also ruffled and positively fiery. Fenris quietly watched her wave a knife wildly from the corner of the kitchen, putting apples into the basket with pies that her mother had sent them and hiding a smile, because calling her "adorable" right now could get him if not a knife, then a fireball in the face.

"Perhaps there's still one not completely covered in paint, but I decided to not take my chances in the darkness."

"Oh. Right. Err. But still, you could say something, we'd figure it out!"

"I'm fine, and besides, I had..."

"Don't you dare to say you had worse on the run."

He blinked, because he  _was_ going to say it.

"I had worse too, you remember I was there with you in the Deep Roads? Urgh, actually I think I haven't craved fresh air so much since the bloody Deep Roads! Fenris, I see you're trying to pretend you're not grinning, it's somehow even worse than when you mock me in the face, just tell me why I'm a clown again."

"I just remembered how when we walked out of the cavern, you brought down a thunderstorm on us."

"Aw, come on, it wasn't a thunderstorm, just a little rain," she laughed, finally put down the knife and folded her arms. "Anders and Varric ran away, but… you stayed."

She grinned at him, radiant and easy, the same smile of a shared secret back then, and he heard himself saying.

"It was the first time I knew I wanted to kiss you."

Her smile froze for a second in surprise, but then grew wider and mischievous. There was a heartbeat of tense, thick silence, and then the waterdrops fell down. It took him a few moments to process, the clear currents raining from a ceiling of a stuffy old kitchen, rushing out the dust and the paint smell. Hawke just stood there, grinning and holding his gaze, rain gleaming in the waves of her hair, he skipped a heartbeat and all thoughts, because in the next moment he crossed the kitchen in two strides and caught her smiling lips with his own.

_Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me_   
_Lying on the floor, surrounded, surrounded_   
_Why'd you have to wait? Where were you? Where were you?_   
_Just a little late, you found me, you found me._


	18. And the kindest of kisses break the hardest of hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Okay, I have a lot to apologize for. I'm so sorry for an terrible delay. Thank you guys for wonderful reviews and messages, you are the only reason I get motivated enough to get back to this fic despite my inability to accept restrictions of English grammar.  
> Also, I have to apologize for this trash hell of a chapter because ugh. Okay, it was supposed to consist of two short fluffy parts, demon's psychological profiling for Hawke and some way of me not dealing with sex scene. But somehow it got out of control and escalated into fluff/angst trainwreck. I'm so sorry. There may be also be bits referencing conversation with a demon that I forgot to edit out, because I can't look at this monstrosity anymore. Sorry again.

_There is love in your body but you can't get it out_

_It gets stuck in your head, won't come out of your mouth_

_Sticks to your tongue and shows on your face_

_That the sweetest of words have the bitterest taste_

It was like thunderclap - it's not like I hadn't seen it coming, when tentative sparks in his eyes flared up into white-hot lightning, it's not like I didn't expect it, since I all but provoked him, but it still staggered me out of my senses. I hit the wall with my shoulderblades and it was the last thing I could register about the outside world. This kiss was a collision, three years of gravitational pull ending in a clash, hard and fast and demanding, denied tension and wrecked nerves, teeth and swelling lips and wild heat. I couldn't even say how long it lasted, only that suddenly my lungs burned in need of air and I had to break away. For a few moments I couldn't do anything, but frantically breathe with my eyes closed - and, Maker's butt, I've really gotta look up soon, actually right now, because it's getting ridiculous - standing with foreheads pressed together, breathing in his skin. No matter how good it feels, somehow both more sharp and soft without his usual notes of metal and leather, mixing with a fresh strike of ozone, and traces of after-rain, paint and… burnt wood?

_Wait, what?_

I opened my eyes and glanced over the elf's shoulder to see the gently smoldering charred remnants of a chair.

"Why is there a burning chair?" I said, trying to keep my voice level.

"Because you struck it with lightning," he said huskily, managing to sound both matter-of-fact and amused.

I'm not even sure what's more embarrassing - that I threw this damn lightning or that I didn't even notice it and Fenris did.

I started finally registering our surroundings, and it turned out he had me pressed against the wall, torn curtains dangling on the last nail behind my back, - how did that happen? - I had my arms around his neck and a thigh over his hip, -  _how did that happen?_  - and one of his arms is circled tightly around my waist and his other hand is on the back of my neck. I know he's got a bit of a thing for anything resembling cupping my cheek, now his thumb was running alongside my jaw - firm, gently and just a little possessive. I met his eyes, expecting a sarcastic rant or, at the very least, a mocking scowl, because I pretty much just ruined his kitchen - and with  _magic_ nonetheless. But he gave me a smug, downright devilish grin, and I raised my eyebrows.

"What, you're not even gonna scold me?"

"Well, it wouldn't be fair to blame you for the way I affect you."

"Excuse me! Affect?!"

"Or do you want to tell me that uncontrollably throwing around lightning is a regular occurrence for you?"

I twisted my mouth in an exaggerated scowl and moved to fold my arms confrontationally, which somehow ended in my fists curled in Fenris shirt's collar. His grin turned positively predatory.

I hissed "Oh, shut your face!" and pushed him against the opposite wall - not the best tactical choice, admittedly, because there were shelves and something fell down and shattered, but his eyes widened, pupils dark and huge, and it's all worth it.

This kiss was still hungry, but without the rushed feverishness, so I could actually feel it. And fuck, he tastes like that homemade raspberry liquor the Dalish gave me - there's a sun-heated rich sweetness covering sharp intoxicating waves, you think you can easily drink the whole bottle, but actually get completely wasted after the first little cup. But really, how was I supposed to be prepared, after his speeches about "I've never allowed anyone close" I expected awkward closed-lipped nose-bumping, and here he is, deep-throating me with his tongue. I tried to pull away, but he leaned after me immediately, parted lips and closed eyes, arms tightening around me, and everything stopped mattering again.

In the middle of breaking away for breath I remembered that I have... um, something, what is it… oh, right! Life and things to do with it and I should probably get back to it. It was fairly hard to attempt thinking, but I did manage to figure out that opening my eyes would be a good first step.

I did and turned out, it wasn't such a great idea, because his face was right there and it wasn't helping.

_Talking, talking is gonna help!_

"We should go… eat… I mean, somewhere… not ruined and wet? "

_Higher brain functions, please come back, I miss you guys._

It did work though, he sighed and stepped back.

I was covered in water, dust sticking to my wet clothes everywhere, and I didn't even want to think about how much of a mess my hair was. This rain was the dumbest idea I've ever… well, okay, not ever, I had much dumber ideas over the course of my life, but at least the dumbest idea this month…

"Well, you pretty much ruined my entire house yesterday, but I'm sure we can find some hidden closet that is in a less pitiful state than this kitchen."

I snorted and looked up from trying to shake the dust off of my shoulder. Fenris was leaning back a bit to give me space, but still with his hands on my waist, so the muscles of his arms and shoulders were rounded in slight tension, and his shirt was wet and almost see-through and  _clinging._  Maker's breath, this rain was the best idea ever, why didn't I do it like every day all these years...

"I think I have an idea."

I snapped my gaze back to his face, and oh Maker, he was beaming, not even just one of his elusive smiles ready to shy away, but open, wide and radiant, and I said "Sure!" immediately, without even asking what this idea was. He smiled brighter, took my hand and grabbed the food basket on his way out of the kitchen, walking in swift determined steps. I was too busy keeping up with his speed and being blind-sided by random smiles he was throwing at me to look where we were going until he stopped in a room with a hole in the ceiling, through which the sunshine was falling. I suppose some sort of trapdoor was placed there before, because there were stairs leading up to the hole, but...

"Wait, where are we going?"

"To the roof."

"But the second half of these stairs is destroyed," I said slowly, because Fenris was still smiling at me and I decided to split the logical chain into the few simple steps I could process in these circumstances.

"Yes. I ruined it myself."

"Right," I said flatly and he shrugged.

"It's an escape route. I know how to get up here and it would take hunters at least a few minutes to figure it out. I decided that this obstacle could be handy."

"Of course you did."

"It's actually easy if you know how," Fenris said, putting the basket down, climbed up the hand-railings, reached up for a metal hook sticking out of the edge of the hole in the roof, too short to fit two hands there, and pulled himself up with one arm smoothly. It looked so easy and natural for him, a sharp grace of effectiveness instead of aiming for visual effect.

He sat at the edge of the roof hole and looked down at me, his head tilted to the side with a small expecting smile.

"Well, not all of us make a life goal of being able to lift their body weight with one arm, you know."

"Yes, the point was to get rid of the mages," he grinned at me and I scoffed. "Don't worry, just stand on the railing and give me your hand, I'll help you."

"No!"

"No what?"

"No, this is a dumb idea and I'm not doing it!"

His face fell and I immediately felt like I kicked a puppy.

"I mean, I'm sure it's great up there," I said quickly, "I'm not saying that the roof is a dumb idea. I'm just… I'm not getting up these railings, that's all."

"Why?"

I took a deep breath. Fenris so rarely suggests anything himself, and he was actually  _excited_ about this and he never lets himself show it, I can't let him think...

"I'm afraid of heights," I said sourly and folded my arms.

"What?"

"Why do you think we only follow solid roads on the way to Sundermount and never take shortcuts? Hey, don't look at me that way!"

"What way?"

"Like you think I'm adorable!"

"I do and you are."

"I'm not and you're ridiculous."

"You are a Force mage. You can literally control gravity. How can you be afraid of it?"

"Why do you think I became a Force mage in the first place?"

"I see," he said quietly and smiled. It's not mocking though, just soft and understanding, which is somehow even more embarrassing.

"Ugh, look, how about we get a ladder?" I grumbled, looking away. "It'll take only a few minutes."

"It's a reasonable enough idea," Fenris said and I breathed out, and he added in same calm voice, "Though don't you think it'd be more practical to pass me the food basket first?"

"Yeah, sure!" I picked it up, walked to stand under the roof hole and raised the basket up in my hands. Fenris swung down from the edge, but instead of taking the basket, he hooked his arms under my armpits, lifted me up and placed me on the roof. It took him about three seconds to do and a minute for me to process.

"What the fuck!" I jumped up, after he gently wrenched the basket from my clenched fingers. "You agreed to bring a ladder!"

"I never did. I said the idea was reasonable enough. "

"Bullshit! I don't care if you didn't lie, you phrased it to make me think you agreed with me, and then ambushed me with manhandling!"

"Ambushed with manhandling? Well that's a phrase Varric would pay through his nose to use. And even though your idea was reasonable enough, it wasn't as effective as what I did."

"Effective?! You know what's gonna be effective?! Fireballing your insolent ass!"

"That would be neither effective nor rational," Fenris said, quickly striding away to the edge of the roof. "Because you'll need my help to get out of here  _and_ because I'm holding the food."

"Running away from the consequences, huh?"

"Running away? I merely moved to the optimal spot. Would you prefer to eat near the hole in the roof?"

He turned, grinning at me with an innocence that was  _meant_ to be mocking, and at this moment he was ridiculously, unfairly gorgeous. I could say it was the clothes and it wouldn't be completely wrong - he wore a white shirt today, it was simple, but for once it fit, and it looked brilliant against the warm ochre of his skin. The simplicity of it and the loose dark pants accented his lean silhouette and even his markings looked elegant instead of invasive when not clashing with his over-complicated armor design. Also, what fool would put spikes and feathers on armor to ruin shoulders that were sculpted like  _this_? .

But on the other hand the way that slaver dressed him makes sense, doesn't it? Because it's the calm confidence that spreads his shoulders, and without it the volumes of spikes and feathers might seem like a good option to make him look more impressive. With anxiety warping the natural grace of his posture into a hunched, constantly twitching wreck, over-bearing armor is the logical way to pass for intimidating. This sick logic of breaking someone and then peppering them with decoration because you don't want their misery to look unglamorous.

But actually the most stupid thing to screw up with the stupidity of his outfit, I think as we settle down and start eating, is collarbones. Which is usually not something I'm interested in, but Fenris in this wide-necked shirt… It takes a little focus to look past the swirls of the markings, but then there are elegant curves of his collarbones, running from sculpted muscles of his broad shoulders to the delicate hollow of his throat. What makes it so unbearably delicious is the combination of lean, confident strength and sharp, boyish vulnerability, it's the essence of him, aggression and tenderness, silk laced through with silver shards.

We sat comfortably for some time after finishing breakfast, exchanging light-hearted jokes and quips. The day was bright and warm, with just enough wind to feel fresh. For once, the city underneath looked calm, the messy labyrinths of reddish-brown streets running down to where the flat surface of the sea mirrored cloudless azure skies.

"I can't remember the last time I felt so peaceful," I said softly, leaning against the parapet.

"Me neither," Fenris raised his eyebrows in slight surprise, then smirked. "Somehow I constantly find myself being dragged into the center of one murderous mess after another."

I chuckled and made a face at him.

"Thank you for this," he suddenly grew serious and I looked up to see him stumble. "I mean, I enjoy time shared just with you. Not that I don't enjoy your company when there are others around, of course... Bah! I appreciate it, is what I'm trying to convey."

"What are you talking about? Not even counting the mercenary work, we're hanging out all the time!"

"Is it what it was? Hanging out?"

"What else could it be?" I asked indignantly, because he was still staring with eyebrows raised in surprise. "What did  _you_ think it was?"

"You had some ridiculous ideas as usual and no one but me agreed to go?"

"I… how… ugh, I can't even..." I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. "No one else was there because I didn't ask anyone else. The whole point was in spending time with you."

"Really? But… you never let me know?"

"I didn't think I needed to! Honestly, you couldn't seriously think that arranging an aerial battle of geese and seagulls for breadcrumbs was my actual priority."

He gave me long silent look and sarcastically arched an eyebrow. I groaned.

"At first we weren't even good friends yet and I had to make excuses to get out on adventures so you could have fun. And I didn't bring anyone else because I know that the more people around, the more you stiffen up. And then it turned out that doing ridiculous stuff around you is so much more entertaining, because you deadpan the absurd names that I gave to the birds, and make bets and theories on probabilities of which bird will catch a crumb depending on the trajectories and… Seriously, Fenris, why do you look surprised?"

"Well, it was brought to my attention several times that I'm a "killjoy" and "sour grump", so..." he shrugged with helpless awkwardness and a crooked grin. My throat tightened and I scooted over to sit by his side.

"Fenris, darling, you are a  _delight_ ," I said firmly and silenced his protests with a kiss, pulling him in by the collar of his shirt. "Look, I kinda have to be always engaged in some process, that's just how my mind works. Which is why I'm inventing all these bullshit activities. But don't think for a second I'm..."

It was him that stopped me from talking now.

_Also, damn you Mum, you did manage to poison me with "darlings"._

"It's fine, there's nothing for you to explain," he said softly, when we moved away from each other. "I was enjoying it greatly anyway."

I stroked his cheekbones, biting my lip. It felt painful to think that Fenris, brilliant and awkward and defensive even when starved for affection, thought that he had to accept what was given because his company is a burden.

"So!" I said, nudging him with cheerful enthusiasm. "What do you want to do?"

His eyes widened in surprise.

"Me? I'm… I have no preference, really, I'll be satisfied as long as we're not covered in blood."

"No, no, no, you always don't care, I have to make up some bullshit and then it turns out you think I care about bullshit more than about you."

"I never said..."

"You know what I mean," I said softly and he sighed. "Come on, there must be something?"

Fenris looked away for few seconds and then met my eyes with an enthusiastic smile blooming up,

"Did you know that the roofs in Hightown are all closely connected? You can get to the Viscounts Keep from this one."

"Really? Amazing," I said with a stupid grin and a completely empty head, wrapped in a cloud of sunshine.

"I could take you there, it has an even better view," he continued, and I've never seen him like this, open and unashamedly radiant without any traces of gloominess, so I blurted out immediately.

"Wonderful! Can't wait!"

At this moment the thought got actually processed through the sunshine cloud and I jerked up.

"Wait, what?! Travel to the Viscounts Keep by the roofs?!"

"Yes? What's wrong?"

"I'm afraid of heights, I told you!"

"It has nothing to do with heights. It's basically moving from one horizontal surface to the other."

"Roofs! Roofs have everything to do with heights! I'm gonna fall down and die!"

"That is an interesting argument for someone who makes a living fighting monsters. But I won't let you fall. I can carry you by the collar with four fingers. Two, if you're not spazzing."

"No, I mean no way, I'd sooner go on a picnic to the Gallows!"

Granted, a minute ago I'd totally agree to anything including a Gallows picnic, because pretty much the only other suggestion that could activate my critical thinking through the sunshine cloud was a Qunari party.

"Ah, I see," he said quietly, visibly forcing a smile, but the glow in his eyes was dimming rapidly. And from anyone else I'd be sure it's intentional and manipulative, that they're doing this on purpose, but Fenris is literally incapable of any pretense or insincerity. Which usually makes him a first grade jerk, granted, but… He's gonna think I don't trust him, right? And he won't argue, because he thinks he doesn't deserve it anyway. I can see it right now. It wasn't a scowl, it was the light fading out, because this sunshine is a deliberate opening in his armor, hope and trust in trying to establish a contact with a world that was always hostile. That smile three years ago after our first "normal" conversation was a leap of faith for him, an attempt of genuine connection, risking what little confidence he had after a lifetime of humiliation.

_Okay, fuck it._

"Okay, fine, but I'm warning you, I'm gonna freak out for sure and you'll have to handle it."

_Wow, and I've always laughed when people got seduced into doing stupid shit. Now it seems like a more dignified option._

After a lifetime of owning a mabari I thought I have immunity to sad puppy eyes, but here we are.

"My pleasure," he sprung up and offered me a hand in one fluid motion.

"And don't even dream about carrying me by the collar," I grumbled, fighting a smirk, when he pulled me up into the circle of his arms.

"Believe me, the dreams you inspire are much different."

* * *

"Cool, you can see the whole city from there!" I said, looking at the city's panorama over Fenris shoulder, because he sat between me and the edge of the roof and observing the view seemed like a good excuse to sit leaning against him, like he's a hand-rail.

"So was it worth it in the end, hmm?"

I still can't get used to how ridiculously amazing his gravelly voice feels when you're actually pressed against him.

"I suppose so. Just a couple of near heart-attacks and we're here."

"What? Pardon me, I can't hear with this ear, because you screamed it out."

It was kind of a miracle that we survived, really. Not that the path was all that dangerous if you look at it objectively. But when the surface wasn't perfectly flat, I had to cling to his arm - which actually meant that I was just hanging bodily on it. So every time I screamed - and I screamed every time I felt a slightest slip in coordination - it went right into his ear. To Fenris' credit, he only flinched the first couple of times. Really, he was amazingly calm and patient, so I even managed to relax a bit and could walk more or less normally after some time. Until we got to the pillars, that is. There were three pillars with about one feet of distance between them and we had to move from the top of one to the other. Which was a nightmare and took forever, because most of the time we didn't move - I stood on Fenris' feet with my eyes closed and chanting that we're gonna die, and when he finally disentangled himself enough to step to the next pillar, he had to do it with one arm outstretched to hold my hand, because there's no way I'm standing there  _alone_ without any support. We totally should have fallen down, I mean  _wow_. And standing on the top of a pillar is the worst thing ever. Probably the only way to make it worse is to put The Arishok up there too.

"Oh, shut up, you've brought it on yourself."

Speaking of the Qunari panic, this reminds me of that time when he stepped up and basically carried the whole conversation with the Arishok while I was standing there in a stupor. And we didn't even like each other back then. It's kinda interesting, because well, I'm short-fused all the time, but while he's ridiculously judgmental and demanding to people in their areas of expertise, he's just as readily and patiently takes responsibility for things you're not equipped to deal with. Which, granted, kinda makes sense, even though he's a giant asshole about the first part.

"Perhaps, but now there will probably be rumors about a banshee in Hightown. That's what the creature you told me about yesterday was called, right?"

"I share a fairytale with you and you turn it around to be a smartass to me."

He tilted his head a little to me, arching an eyebrow with a lopsided grin that very vividly said  _'That's why you like me'._

I rolled my eyes and grinned back.

_I can't believe I wasted three years of not flirting with this jerk._

"So, where is my house? You can see it from here, right?"

Fenris turned his head slightly to glance down and it would probably make more sense to stare at the taut muscles of his shoulders tensing up in motion. But there was this spot at the back of his neck, where the uneven tips of soft white hair contrasted with the tawny brown of his skin, with a thin pale scar running across the bony knobs of his spine, and somehow it was  _killing_ me.

"There it is."

"And how were you able to find it so fast?" I leered, narrowing my eyes and grinning. "Spent a lot of time staring at it broodingly?"

"I was able to find it fast because it has a bright red roof," he rolled his eyes under half-closed lids with his best *I'm too unimpressed to scowl* face. "Also it has your house's giant coat of arms painted on it, which, just for the record, is ridiculous. Who puts their sigil on a roof?"

He turned to look down again, probably to articulate the ridiculousness, and I gave up, because I have only so much willpower. I nuzzled at his neck, his light hair tickling at my forehead, and trailed soft kisses down his spine and the gentlest one on the line of a scar, because, Maker, it had to be from a leash.

"It's all very logical and reasonable," I said, leaning against his back, my cheek pressed to his shoulderblade. Fenris didn't move, still in the same half-twisted pose, and I could feel his fastened heartbeat. I tried to sound humorously, but heard my voice coming out quiet and gentle, because I could feel the prominent roughness of scars even through his shirt. "When I'm flying over the city on my pet dragon, how I'm supposed to know on which roof to land?"

He turned abruptly and caught my mouth with his, passionate and just a shade of unhinged, his hand moving over my back with pressure only on his fingertips, like he was scraping for a hold. It's really a little heartbreaking with just how much of a grateful abandon he answers every little sign of affection, not even trying to hide the longing that tastes almost like despair.

"So, I mention my future dragon pet and you switch from criticizing me to kissing," I smirked, stroking his jawline. I always thought 'being unable to keep hands off each other' problem was bullshit that obnoxious couples did to annoy people around them, but suddenly it's a very real obstacle. "How very opportunistic of you."

And he could have played along, joke and grin, I  _expected_ him to play along. But Fenris was silent, with a small restrained smile, hands light and gentle on my waist, and crinkles around his eyes, looking at me with desire so raw it felt like greed and, worse, affection so sincere it was impossible to keep pretending to be casual, cool and sarcastic.

"Why do you have to be such an asshole, Fenris, give me a break," I grumbled, kissing the corner of his lips until his smile grew wider and his arms tightened around me.

* * *

He would have said he felt drunk, but that wasn't really it. He felt alive now, like that night in Hawke's mansion, and, without being tired and sore, it felt amazing. As if bars of the old cage in his chest opened up and he could connect with himself without an iron-cold layer of detachment. The wave of sensations, the warmth of sunshine, the wind, the roughness of the stone, Hawke's fingers… scratching at his ribs?

"Excuse me," he said softly, trying to bite down a smile, "is there any particular reason for your… ministrations? I only ask because you seem to be expecting some reaction from me."

"Aw, come on!" Hawke, stretched against him, went from scratching his left side to the right side, while looking at him with the same frustrated anticipation.

Fenris was usually very good at evaluating his state. The physicality of his body was always just another parameter he had to control, he was used to a clarity of understanding how much time he had before, for example, falling unconscious from blood loss and what he should do before it. Lust wasn't any different, it was controllable and it didn't affect his judgment. But now, when his hide of broken chains and cages is slipping off, it feels like her touch isn't just going through his defenses, it goes under his skin. And even though it makes no sense, it's unsettling, because while he knows very well how to handle pain, he has no idea how to deal with the unbidden pleasure.

"If it's some sort of Ferelden or, perhaps, human social ritual, then I'm afraid I'm not aware of it."

"Ritual, huh? That's your play?"

"Well, one Ferelden human I know sent copper marigolds and goats as the means of courting. I'm not counting out the possibilities."

But it's not right, it isn't a problem for anyone normal, it shouldn't be a problem. She's already putting up with a lot for him, it's not her fault he's deficient. He already feels like a fraud, paying with false coins for the happiness he didn't deserve and couldn't afford.

"Okay, yeah, you have a point here," she smirked, cocking her head to the side. "But I will not be distracted from ruining your pretense."

There's a clear line on her neck that's left by the collar of her battle robes, the contrast of vibrant gold-flecked tan and luminously tender skin, untouched by the sun. This whole day he wanted to trail this line with his lips, but only allowed himself the most careful of touches. Because leaving even temporary marks felt like too much, like claiming something he had no right to.

"I… fail to imagine what pretense could be foiled by poking at one's ribs?"

How long before it comes to an inevitable crush? How long before he screws it all up, before she sees how much of his old rusted chains are sewn into his skin and this fire in her eyes turns into disgust or pity? How long can he pretend that he's okay, when the more he wants her, the sharper his anxiety gets?

"Darling," she said solemnly, looking him in the eyes, and it slashed through his heart. "There's no way on earth you're not ticklish."

He wanted to laugh and couldn't. He thought that being her adventure for a time would be enough, that a little stolen happiness is better than never knowing how it feels, but now he couldn't bear the thought of it coming to an end. He wanted so much more. To not feel unworthy of the endearment, to know that he belongs and can call her his own. Maybe in another life, where he never wore a leash, where he wasn't broken, he could have this. But in this world, where the desire feels like a slip in control and not being in absolute control means weakness, means helplessness, with skin crawling and tears squelched, because they only provoke more humiliation...

"I'm sorry I'm a disappointment of your expectations."

_...but your disappointment won't last, and you'll move on, as bright as ever. I know I have no right to you, but I only have one day, one day of this and I can't give it up_

"Oh, for fuck's sake, I'm not going to let you over-dramatize  _tickling_!"

She kissed him, and the future stopped existing, just her, soft and self-willed at once, fire bottled up in a lithe form that sent jolts through his own body and just for now he can forget himself. But a kiss can burn only for so long, and then the clear flames are tainted with bitter smoke.

"I think there's a way to give you satisfaction still," he said, his voice deliberately low, meeting her eyes as her lips grinned against his.

"Oh really?" Hawke purred as his hands slid down her arched back. She's smiling, easy and incandescent, light so natural she doesn't realize it's there and what it does to him. He spent years faking confidence, wearing a mask of calm indifference, pretending to know what he was doing when he didn't know how to even talk to people, hiding his loss of memory, illiteracy, lack of all skills that didn't involve fighting. And everything he couldn't hide - old scars, old chains, lyrium under his skin and blood over his blade, - he made it all into armor, worn so long and close to his skin, it knitted together and became a hide. But what does armor matter, when her touch blooms under his skin?

He knew that without his hide he'll fall apart, but you can't argue with fire for the price of warmth...

"Yes, I just need to learn what the reaction is supposed to be."

It took her a second, and then her eyes widened and she shrieked, jerking away, but he already had fingers on her sides. The resulting mess put to shame her previous fight back then in the sea waves.

"Okay, I don't think I can manage screeching quite so... high-pitched," he said nonchalantly after he let her go and she stopped screaming obscenities. "And if I'd start thrashing my limbs around so..."

She punched him in the shoulder, breathing heavily.

"Maker's fart, you're such an asshole! You can't tickle me!'

"But you just tried it to me?"

"I'm a Force mage, I could throw you off the roof!" she huffed, nudged him again and then curled against his side. "Jerk. Don't do that again!"

Fenris caught her chin, gently tipped her head up and kissed the scowl on her lips.

"I reserve my right," he followed the line of her lower lip, feeling how it begrudgingly shifts into a smile, "to use it as blackmail in cases of your future inappropriate behavior."

"Your face is inappropriate, you jerk," she retorted, before he stole another kiss and a scrap of bliss.

* * *

My mom sometimes says that I don't like cats because I'm too much like one and I always dismissed it, because she cherishes bitterness about her children growing into Ferelden peasants instead of Free March nobility and also because she likes to mess with people, while pretending to be wise. Also, I'm like the biggest dog person in this city, and on the second note, if you're gonna go as lowly as animal metaphors, no one, not even this stupid demon, tried to argue that I'm a hawk.

But right now I'm: more or less sprawled across Fenris' chest in a weird but comfortable way without any concerns for the gracefulness of it, supporting myself on his shoulders by leaning on them with my arms, severely determined to stay there no matter how much gravity tries to make me slip, nuzzling his jaw and sucking hickeys onto his neck.

"Erica?"

"Hmmm?"

_Oh, Maker's tits, did you just stoop into *purring*?_

But it isn't even the worst part. The worst part is that his fingers are in my hair, stroking me behind the ears and massaging my scalp, and if he stops for a minute, I make a displeased grunt and nip at his ear. Which is terrible, because it's exactly like a cat who comes to sit on your head and bites to get your attention.

"I've been wondering… You're taking training to be a Spirit Healer, right?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Gah, you're going to lecture on how it's bad and dangerous because it'smagic?"

"Because it's better to never examine the dangers of it, so you can be sure you're unprepared if something goes wrong? "

I already opened my mouth to snap back something sarcastic, but then I actually took in his face. Fenris looked genuinely worried, not judgmental like I immediately assumed.

_Maker's breath, woman! His only examples of dealing with spirits are Anders, who freaked out and almost killed a scared mage girl last week, and Merrill, who calls demons "helpful spirits". He doesn't have your confidence in magic because you can control magic and he can't, he was only hurt by it and saw other people being hurt too. For fuck's sake, he just recently went through a fucked up experience of being possessed in the Fade. Of course he's worried, stop being a shithead!_

I closed my mouth, took a deep breath and started over.

"I'm not getting possessed, I promise. It's nothing like what happened to Anders. If anything, it reassured me that I'm never agreeing to anything like that!"

"Oh?" Fenris said tentatively, cocking his head to the side.

"Come to think of it, I can't believe I  _haven't_ complained to you already!" I shifted in his arms to better see his face. "Spirits are giant self-absorbed, single-minded assholes! I mean, what's supposed to happen, in theory? You beckon benevolent spirits who graciously give you healing energy, right? Fucking wrong! You know these family gatherings or, better yet, how Varric describes his guild's meeting? A bunch of obnoxious sticks in the mud who can only think about themselves? And you know how it's irritating when you're playing chess and people are telling you what to do? Well, this is exactly the same, only this obnoxious bunch tells you what to do in a fight! Like, we're fighting bandits and there's Wisdom, who's all "Um I think we should all stop and talk with these gentlemen about their ethical positions and philosophies, I'm sure if we just explained to them the un-wiseness of their ways, we wouldn't have a problem." And Compassion, of course, with "This dude you just threw a fireball at? His parents didn't buy him a puppy when he was small, and he grew up with a denied need for love and friendship. We should just give him a puppy." And, oh jeez, Valor, who's like "Ya'll pussies! Chaaaarge!" And Faith are the worst! "Do you believe? Do you believe, motherfuckers?!"

Fenris chuckled and looked at me with a small, sympathetic smile and I actually felt better. Over the time of our friendship, I got used to sharing things that stress me out with him, even if I didn't expect any direct help. He's not distracted by the humour and it feels good to have someone who's honest, smart, sarcastic and gets what exactly is bothering you in your barely comprehensive emotional dump, even if it's wrapped in jokes. Varric and Izzy usually joke back, and that's cool and all, but with Fenris I can count on him cutting through my bullshit directly to the problem when he sees one.

"Is it even worth the trouble?"

I sighed and leaned into his hand, as he stroked the nape of my neck.

"I think so, yeah. It's really immensely more powerful than usual healing. And it's not a constant connection, thank the Maker, I only go into this state for few minutes when I choose to do so."

He sighed, resigned, but soft.

"Just be careful, please? Don't feel obligated to use it if it pains you so, even if you think we need it in battle. We can fight as it is."

"Um… that's it? No lectures about dangers of demonic possession?"

Fenris looked me in the eyes, looking somehow both reproachable and fond.

"You're the most strong-willed mage… no, person I know. I've seen you stand unwavered under the pressure I myself couldn't resist. If you say you're in control of this, I have no grounds to question you, even if I don't trust the source of this power."

"Hey," I found his free hand and laced our fingers. "I know it must be very hard for you to trust any mage since you view magic itself as a source of danger and corruption. And even if I don't agree with you, after all you've been through… it's not my place to tell you that you're wrong. So, darling... Thanks for… believing in me, I guess?"

"Erica," he said quietly and almost solemnly, "you  _are_ the brightest flame, but it doesn't mean that you have to pretend to be flawless. I'm not waiting for your slightest slip to accuse you of corruption. I know you're only mortal, I know it's draining for you. I believe that you can handle it, but I wish I could help at least a little."

Something cracked inside of me, for few moments I could only look at him, my lip bitten. Up close like this you could see that his skin is weathered, with lines for which duress is more responsible than time. Two vertical creases of concern between black eyebrows, dark circles that were always under his eyes no matter how much sleep he gets, subtle, but prominent lines, arching from his nostril-wings to the corners of his mouth, most noticeable when it quirks up in one of his deliciously crooked grins. But his eyes are warm and bright, sunshine through the tender leaves.

_How did you manage to save this spring after everything that was done to you?_

His skin, stretched tight on his sharp cheekbones, is rough under my fingers, but his lips are tantalizingly soft on mine. I hide all the words I cannot say in this kiss, all questions left unasked and promises untold.

_How did you keep this light, this stubborn protective tenderness, through darkness that tried to drown you?_

I was bleeding tenderness, but a strange kind, fierce, thick and raw, like lava streams, vicious slow-burning resolve spreading under my skin. I trailed unhurried possessive kisses down his neck, - arched trustingly for me, - and I could feel his throat moving under my mouth when he swallowed and let out a shallow breath, his fingers clutching at me.

_I'll tear apart any bastard who dares to deny you your dignity, brilliance or freedom._

I run my fingers through his hair, light and smooth like the finest of silks, and sucked on his collarbones, the delicate skin and willowy lines of bones, but the most delicious was a feverish flare of his pulse in the hollow of his throat, echoed in his ragged breathing and heartbeat, racing under my hand on his chest. This is what you're hiding under the silver shards, the light in your smiles and verve in your veins.

_I'll burn all trails of the words that made you feel unworthy, even if I have to set the sea waves aflame._

His hand cupped my face and I looked up to see this raw, vulnerable tenderness in his eyes that soothed a searing wave under my skin, fiery determination hiding in my bones for a time.

"But you're helping already," I purred, masking the bloom of affection with sarcasm. "You gave me so much invaluable experience for arguing with judgmental assholes."

"Thrilled to be of service," Fenris said wryly, but his thumb was stroking my cheek gently.

_Okay, I'm giving up trying to fight my feline tendencies._

I arched up with intentional laziness, smirked at him mischievously, leaning into his touch, and kissed his palm. His eyes darkened at once and I could feel the shudder running through him when he inhaled sharply. The current of heady, stormy desire runs thick between us, it pulls me up and all I can do is evade and deflect, because denying is useless and taking action isn't my choice to make here.

"You know what pains me more than annoying spirits though?" I breathed out, rubbing my cheek against his. "Your face. For instance, I keep cutting myself on your cheekbones. Do you sharpen them like your sword?"

"Are there spirits of cheesy humor and bad puns? You're sure to get their full support even if others are acting up," he rasped back with a smirk, but his fingers on my waist twitched and tightened, as if to stop from moving further.

"Ouch," I chuckled and nipped at his jaw lightly, biting down on my own urges. "You're a nice asshole for a jerk."

The thing is, of course I do want him, but in this case, it's his, not my choice to make. Denying this attraction is ridiculous, but somehow being unable to take it further is not that much of a big deal now. Perhaps it's because I'm a gourmet, Izzy calls me too picky, but hey, why shouldn't I be. Sex by itself gets boring, so I only take it with a side dish of emotional intensity, and I like figuring out what tone, pace, mood and patterns suit each new relationship the most. Athenril was most vibrant in the brawls in the dirty alleys, rough and hostile, bites and hisses, managing to break my skin with her short nails. Ellie - who's now Lady Elegant, isn't it just precious, - bloomed the fullest under the light slow touches, delicate aromas of scented candles neither of us could afford at the time. It's not like playing a role, I'm far too selfish to be anyone but myself, of course, it's still me, just in different moods. It's about getting the most out of a  _process_ while moving to the goal. There's no point in arguing with what the demon said - I do live in a never-ending dance with fire.

Right now though… there's no goal over the horizon, no target to strike in the most impressive way. I don't need to draw the pattern and the song, there's no rush and no scene. I don't know what I want to do more - kiss or talk with him, and we do both, sometimes at the same time. And I'm content with it, with this warmth, entangled on the edge over the city, with talks, filled with importance and bullsht at once, his laugh with me in his arms. Just the two of us, lost in time, because the past where we argue is ridiculous and the future is eternal, moment after moment of shared heartbeats. It's terrible, really, it's against the core of my self-image, but I can't help it. He was so awkward and starved for affection and secretly surprised with every caress, that I felt almost outraged, determined to spoil him with it. But the thing about Fenris is that he never takes anything for granted, neither bad nor good, and the way he lightens up, treasures every smile, touch, and throwaway caress is heartwrenching. And well, it seems I turn into a lazy, demandingly affectionate cat when being cherished for mere existing. The *really* worst part is that I actually like it too.

* * *

"Hey, I think I figured one thing people are supposed to do on dates," Hawke said cheerfully, aiming for the enthusiastic innocence that actually betrayed her mischievous impatience. She propped herself up from where she was leaning against Fenris' chest to look him in the eye. She was grinning, but direct sunlight made her squint and her grin was lop-sided. Her hair-tie was still trying to fight a losing battle with the wind, numerous threads of her hair already blown free. He watched her messy, entangled black waves, pierced with sunshine that gave them warm bronze tones. In the moments like this you could see that her hair's dark color wasn't jet-black with cold bluish highlights, but of a deep copperish umber-black. He knew that already, of course. He knew how she looked in any light, from sunrise to lyrium glow. He knew the bangs that were framing her face were always messy on one side and smooth on the other, and he knew the reason for that is that she gets bored halfway through brushing her hair. He can tell her mood any day from which side of her bangs was the messiest. He knew so much about her and still couldn't claim to understand her, so he just looked, trying to catch her in this radiant windswept glory for his memory.

He softly tucked a stray lock behind her ear and took the obvious bait.

"And what is that?"

"Reminiscing about the day they first met," she said sweetly and he groaned. "What? I can remember ours vividly. You hired that twitchy dwarf to lie to me and send me into a trap..."

"You could have been cooperating with slavers."

"... and then you called me "viper"!"

"I didn't call *you* viper, I made a generalized metaphor in regards of my opinion of magic..."

"Right after accusing me of being a part of mages conspiracy to haunt your life."

"I didn't say that."

"You  _totally_ did! There was also stuff about a plague burned into your soul and whatnot. It was one of your finest poetically over-dramatic moments yet."

"I will try harder from now on," he said flatly.

"Nah, you don't have to try, you're a natural."

The worrying thought struck him.

_Why would she remember this? Was she really hurt by these words?_

Then she narrowed her eyes with mischief and grinned wickedly, leaning over him and splaying her hand over his chest.

"You said "I won't harbor a viper in my midst" and look where we are now."

He pinched the bridge of his nose with a grunt.

_That's it. That's the joke she was setting up. She didn't remember it because her feelings were hurt, but because she wanted to make a terrible pun._

"Hawke, honestly..."

"Oh, how the tables have turned!" she cried out exuberantly before he could finish and he gave up.

"That's not even how this idiom is supposed to be used," he said softly, enjoying the golden shimmer of glee in her eyes.

"Shut up, you called me viper, you don't get to lecture me on incorrect use of phrasings."

"Fine. Go on, dump on me all your delight at fate's irony."

"Irony? Underestimating me is your fatal mistake! There is no irony! This was my nefarious plan!"

He simply couldn't help it, he claimed her grinning lips in a messy, erratic kiss; the shared laughter that rumbles between them tasted careless and divine. He wanted it to never end; he wanted to trace all the lines of her body, learn every subtle sign of its language right now, it felt urgent and unattainable at once.

"You can't go kissing people in the middle of their villainous speeches, Fenris!" She exclaimed when their lips parted, nudging playfully at his chest. "Have some manners!"  
"Forgive me, I'm new to this. Would "Oh no, you showed me" be an appropriate response?"

"It'll suffice," she said with pretended haughtiness and cheerful sparks in her eyes. If he could, he'd loop this hour in a string, just the two of them in the warm amber of her laughter and mischief, in her world where he isn't a wreck of the magister's design, where people trust each other and malicious plans are absolutely impossible, so out of the realms of possibilities that could be used only as a joke.

"First you, next - the world!"

"Is that so? I'm flattered to hear that I'm just the one step easier than the world."

"Sometimes you're at least three steps more difficult than the world," she made a jokingly exaggerated grimace of a scowl, but then sighed. "I'm actually really glad you told me you were on the run when we first met or we would not have gotten a chance to know each other."

Fenris stared at her blankly.

"What do you mean?"

"Your kinda strange policies of what to let me know and what to keep secret?" she explained, absent-mindedly carding her fingers through his hair. "I mean, really, if you'd also said your memory had been wiped, our first months of interactions would have been ten times easier."

"No, what do you mean by "we would not have gotten a chance to know each other"?"

Hawke straightened up in his arms, looking puzzled.

"That you were a giant prick and I wouldn't tolerate it if I didn't know your reasons."

"You mean, you… wouldn't ask me to join if I wasn't a runaway slave?"

"Obviously?" she rolled her eyes and leaned back against his shoulder, stroking behind his ear.

"But… you've seen the abilities of the markings?" he pressed on, trying to concentrate through the distractingly relaxing waves of pleasant shivers running through his muscles.

"So? Come on, you know me long enough, have I ever dealt with assholes just because they are powerful?"

In hindsight, it did seem obvious. Hawke never sacrificed her integrity no matter how big the advantages or threats were promised.

"But… why then?"

She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair, brushing the bangs from her forehead.

"Darling, no offense, but, ugh… With your weird-ass armor and distinctly unique looks, you're the most noticeable person in just about any crowd. And knowing the usual "mercenary" folk in Kirkwall, I could tell there's a huge chance that if you dealt with someone else, you'd find them turned against you the minute you said "expensive lyrium". So… it was just the right thing to do."

"So it was pity?" he meant it to sound indignant, and instead it came out choked up.

"No, Maker's breath, of course not! I told you, it was the right thing to do! I didn't think you were incapable of handling yourself, but I knew you were at much more of a risk by yourself. I had to help!"

"But you helped already! You fought the slavers after Danarius fled, there was no immediate danger. You could have just let me walk away."

"Not immediate, but you were still on the run!"

"So what? You already did everything and more than your morals could ask of you. What other people could do to me after was not your responsibility."

"It was! Because I knew you could lose your freedom or life. And if I would just stand idle, than I would be enabling it. Yes, I can't change the order of the world, but I can and will do everything in my power to make things right when I can!"

"Why? You spend your time, your resources, your magic and your blood on people who most of the time will throw it all away anyway!"

"Because everyone deserves a chance! Everyone has a spark inside of them and if sometimes the world is too harsh to keep it aflame, someone _has_  to help this fire grow. That is just the right thing to do."

"No, it's not. It's an ineffective and dangerous thing to do. This is absolutely not how people work."

"Gah. You're just saying it because you think most people are bad."

"I don't."

"Whaat? Then I suppose I was having an imaginary conversation all this time? With whom, the ghost of grumpiness?"

"Bad implies judgment and guilt, and I don't think in these categories. It's pointless. I only look at what people are made o and what they're capable of. The world is cruel and unfair and shapes people into monsters no matter what their intentions were. In the end, it doesn't matter if it was the monster's fault or not - what matters is how dangerous they are. Which is why, for example, the intentions of a mage don't matter - most mages are just not capable of dealing with the responsibility of magic. Their weakness may not be their fault, but it will still lead to others being hurt."

"No! I can't believe I'm hearing this from you of all people! If it was true, if intentions of people didn't matter and they couldn't resist the world shaping them into monsters, than  **you** wouldn't be here right now! Because out of anyone I know, life treated you the worst, gave you no chances, but still, you didn't become a scumbag! You could be robbing people on the roads or something! It would be way more easier and profitable, but you didn't do that even when you were hunted. Heck, you could be attacking every mage on sight after what was done to you, but even in your bitterest state three years ago you didn't. The world tried so hard to make you a monster, but you aren't!"

He had to look away, because the brightness of the golden flames in her eyes was too… undeserved.

_Because of course I *am_ _***** _ _._

"Of course, outliers exist, you're the obvious proof yourself," he said evasively, still not looking at her. "But exceptions only prove the rule. And trying to give everyone a fair chance costs too much. You risk so much and any… advantages do not compensate for the loses. You have to think about what's best for you and not how to right the wrongs that wasn't your fault in the first place!"

"Advantages don't compensate… what the fuck are you even talking about?! If I acted differently, I wouldn't have you right now!"

"But I don't matter," it came out so naturally, without any thought, and he reflected distantly that it's easy to tell the truth. "It doesn't matter for the world if I'm alive, or dead, or wearing a leash. And on the grand scheme of things, it wouldn't matter for you too if years ago you'd let me go. My freedom is a continued accident that lasted so long because of your belief in principles."

"What the… Are you fucking kidding… First of all, your freedom is your own accomplishment. Others might help sometimes, but you had to fight for years, alone, I can't imagine how you didn't give up! And you know what doesn't matter? It doesn't matter if most people are idiots and don't believe in the right things, it doesn't make it any less right. It doesn't matter if tomorrow I turn into a cackling blood mage moron, it won't make your right to be free less true. Your freedom matters," she softly caught his chin and tugged, so he'd finally meet her eyes. "You matter."

He couldn't stand seeing the fierce conviction in her gaze, so he pulled her closer, tucking his face into the crook of her neck. It has to be the Maker's cruel joke - to drag him through the dirt and darkness, to take away everything he had, - and then let him meet Hawke, with the brightest fire that he mistook so long for arrogance and that is in truth the purest kindness, of a kind that helps people because she knows no other way to live. And to let him taste this happiness, to let him know what he could have if he wasn't shattered into pieces… it's too precise to be a chance, it has to be fate.

"And darling, I'm personally insulted at the insinuation that you don't matter to me, as if I wouldn't let you drag me into this trip of death on roofs and spent the whole day purring into your goddamn ear. Both of which are not things I usually participate in, I assure you."

His laugh sounded half-choked and nervous even to him.

_So for you it was a day of indulging in uncharacteristic activities and for me it was the only day I felt truly happy in my life._

"Just promise me you won't turn into a cackling blood mage. I don't think I can take it."

"Aw, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid there's nothing to be done about it? You know me, I'm laughing all the time, and obviously blood mages only cackle instead of laughing. So, I don't really have any options, I suppose. It's just the rules by which the world shapes us int..mmh!"

She laughed and butted her forehead against his when the kiss ended. He ran his fingers gently through the entangled threads of her hair and counted heartbeats.

* * *

"So," Hawke grinned, standing in the doorway of her estate. "See you soon?"

In the darkness after sunset, her silhouette looked ethereal, illuminated and outlined by the amber glow from behind her back. He walked her home, because he couldn't make himself let her go, as if the spell would be broken. Like beasts in her fairytales, who had only one day to live as humans, he could feel how his time was running out. As they walked there hand in hand, panic, senseless and insistent, itched in his limbs, until it was roaring in his temples, his breath hitched and heartbeat fastened. Because the mistake that happened in the world's order and allowed him to have this day, won't happen again.

_Over. It will be over._

"Fenris?" she said softly, giving him a concerned look. "Are you alright?"

And then she lifted her hand and stroked his cheekbone and that was it. With rush of hot blood he let desire overflow and drown out the bitter smoke of anxiety - if only for a time, but it didn't matter. He caught her mouth with a vicious kiss and stepped through the threshold.

_Darling heart, I loved you from the start_

_But you'll never know what a fool I've been_

_Darling heart, I loved you from the start_

_But that's no excuse for the state I'm in_


	19. And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I just kinda gave up on grammar times in this chapter. And I gave up on changing chapter descriptions, though if someone has suggestion for describing the whole thing, I'd love to hear, because I suck at summarizing.  
> Also, I suppose I should give a warning - there's a scene of panic attack and vaguest ever sexual description, I'm not sure if I should change the rating, but I don't want to falsely lure innocent smut-searchers into 19 chapters of bad humor and psychoanalysis.

 

_What a wicked game to play_

_To make me feel this way_

_What a wicked thing to do_

_To make me dream of you_

"Hey, wait," I say and Fenris pulls back a bit, just enough to be able to look at me. "Are you sure?"

He withdraws his arms, disentangling himself from me with slow, forced movements, until there was enough space between us for me to leave if I wanted. He stands with his shoulders squared and heavy, a determined intensity in his eyes, so it feels like he's looming over me even though we're about the same height.

"Command me to go, and I shall."

I grin slowly.

"Only if you don't stop overdramatizing."

We move at the same time, crashing into each other, and get all tangled up in what felt like less than a second. We try to walk, still entangled in each other, and it's worse than when we were walking with glued hands and facing opposite directions. Now, we manage three steps, all in different directions, and when I step into a potted plant, Fenris growls something in Tevene against my jaw and picks me up. He carries me with one arm, the other one not as much supporting, as roaming, feverishly sliding all over my back, and tangles in my hair.

"No, no, darling, that is too easy for someone who makes lifting his own weight with one arm his life-goal," I grin as he looks up, his eyes hazed and wild. "Let's make it challenging."

I hook my legs around his waist and grind down, arching with my whole body. Fenris misses a step, staggering back, and growls.

"A lesser man would call you cruel," he rasps, his arms tightening and throat working under my lips as he swallows.

"A lesser man would call me a cocktease and be spent by this time," I whisper into his ear, moving again, "but luckily, as I can tell, lessness is not an issue."

There's exasperation in his next growl.

"Can I counter your "no dramatics" rule with "no horrendous puns"?"

"Fine," I chuckle and arch down again. "But I won't stop doing  _that_."

He catches my mouth, his hand gripping my ass.

"I wouldn't ask it of you."

He practically runs up the stairs, only once hitting his shoulder against the wall with a hiss, and I drink Tevene swearings from his lips. I'm not like this usually, well, I do love challenges and teasing and games, but I normally calculate the risks, and make sure I'm in control so it doesn't go too far. Usually, with someone else, I'd be checking that it's safe, that we're not about to go tumbling down the stairs, but not now.

He almost falls into my room, hitting the door with his back flat, and I slam it behind us with a force wave. I don't know how he manages to actually carefully lower me on the bed without bumping me into anything, like a headboard or a pillar, but he does. But instead, he gets his own head entangled in the canopy.

I laugh while he makes muffled noises and shakes his head, trying to free himself.

It'd be a lot easier if he let go with one of his hands from either my palm or my ass, but Fenris was always eccentric with what to be densely stubborn about.

My legs are still hooked around his hips, so I slide my thigh down from his hipbone and grind against him just to torture him. It works, because he growls and shudders with his whole body.

"Did you do that on purpose?" Fenris asks when he finally falls down on the bed next to me.

"Did what?" I run my fingers through his hair, which is way messier than even usually, and try to stop giggling.

"Ambushed me with this…  _thing_? I dodged it last time, but..."

I burst with laughter again.

"Yeah, it was my exact malicious plan. I was to lure you here, so the canopy could catch you. One time you escaped, but now we have finally won!"

"Honestly, Hawke, this degree of ridiculousness cannot be healthy for an adult mind..."

"Ridiculousness? You get stuck in a canopy, accuse me of planning it and then *I'm* ridiculous?"

He groans exasperatedly and pulls me in abruptly, so we tumble around until we're pretty much helplessly entangled in each other. It's a mess, because if usually people strategically go for certain parts, Fenris focuses on whatever catches his attention. In the moment, he's kissing my right shoulder and nearest areas, his hands are wandering over me in somewhat aimless grazing caresses, and all of it shouldn't be able to ignite me to this level of a incoherent tingly mess before we even get to anything substantial. I mean, I only managed to get him out of his shirt, so it's kind of embarrassing.

"Fenris, shoulders…" I have the pointy end of his ear against my mouth, so I illustrate my point by nipping at it, "are not supposed… What are your priorities..."

"Sorry," he says breathlessly, lifting his head, and actually looks apologetic, "It doesn't feel good, right? I'msorry, I just want everything about you."

I give up.

"It shouldn't, but it does, so fine, shut up."

He grins wolfishly and his ears perk up -  _Maker's giggle, they literally perk up,_  - and sucks at the juncture of my jaw and neck.

The logical part of me says that I have to be patient and lenient and unselfish, but it doesn't really work. Because he's not awkward, skittish and confused as I expected, he's tense and determined with a greedy abandon, silver shards threaded with silk, filthy and exquisite at the same time, breathless and deprived; the slick heat of his tongue, tender lips and the scraping of his teeth, hands sliding feverishly over my skin, firm and desperately careful, his mouth trailing my throat, possessive and reverent at once. I catch myself arching under him, hand fisted in the silk of his hair, and reign myself in.

_I never let anyone lead me in this dance…_

I dig my fingers into his bare shoulders and he flips us over. I'm glad that I have dark plum sheets tonight, because it gives Fenris skin a warm bronze glow and the strands of his hair spilled over it in a messy halo. His eyes look like the sea on Satinalia night - the surface flecked with golden lights from the festival fires, but with deep and stormy green underneath.

The whole day I kept subtly healing any marks we were leaving, but I stopped now, so his lips are swollen when I bite them and he groans. How is it possible to not be selfish when he's also so receptive, and the myriad of little reactions is just so rewarding, so it just provokes this hungry greed, because, fucking hell, I do want everything too.

I expected awkwardness, but there's almost no bumping of the limbs, which I probably should have seen coming, - he moves on reflexes, both natural and combat honed, certain and fluid, which allows him to dodge my elbow and in the same movement his hand flows up my back, tugging my shirt up. It glides too smoothly and easily, I don't even realize what's happening when after getting my arms up to slide off the shirt, his hand closes over both of my wrists and he turns us over again.

I chuckle darkly, because  _oh darling, I played this game too many times, I have so many tricks to counter just about anything from people who think that their strength or agility gives them an advantage over me._ So I stretch under him, grinning, and let fire bloom on my hand just above his fingers.

The flames didn't touch him, but he backs away, just as I expected, the startled recoil of tense muscles up to the knotted shoulders and an abrupt jerk of the head. He stops though, before he was supposed to, his hand is on my forearm with a loosened grip and I can see the fire reflecting in his wide opened eyes. And then he looks me in the eyes and smiles.

It's unexpected and complicated, strangely smug, wise and tender all at once, like he understood the meaning and intent hidden in this fire. And suddenly I feel foolish, for bringing the competitive game where he had only earnest sincerity, and I'm already prepared to let the flames die when Fenris finally moves. Still holding my gaze, he slides his hand up, but instead of gripping my wrists again, it moves into the fire, and just as he silences my surprised yelp with his mouth, his fingers twine with mine.

I kill the flames immediately, but he doesn't react in any way, like he doesn't care, like the only thing that matters is that kiss. And I give up, relax the knuckles that went white around his fingers, let my own ferocious tenderness uncurl from within my bones and meet his passionate abandon with my own. It's filthy and exquisite, breathless and deprived - of anything but  _us_.

* * *

"Hey, what happened? Are you hurt?"

He could barely hear her over the drumming in his temples. The world was shattered into sharp pieces and darkness in the cracks between them, and it was hard to realize what is happening and in which order, especially when it was so hard to breath  _\- the iron bars of the rusted cage are closing again, tighter this time, forcing his racing heart into his throat_

"It's not that."

He makes himself turn to face her.

"I began to remember. My life before. Just flashes..."

For a few blissful moments, there was only darkness, when he didn't have to be himself, when he didn't have to be anything, there was just a velvet void, full of ragged breaths, silky skin against his, the world melting in pleasure and warmth. And then it rushed over him, the mess of sensations, voices, views, scattered and connected, a completed puzzle for one second - before it shatters again, leaving him empty, useless,  _helpless_. All he has are the memories of this wretched life, and it comes to gnaw on him, because he knows helplessness all too well and it's there, the same,  _all over again_ , crawling skin and clenched teeth and...

"It's too much. This is too fast. I cannot… do this."

Black, desperate drumming inside of his head, inside of his  _bones_  urges him to run, to hide, but he owes her what little explanation he can give, so he just breaks into shaky pacing in front of the fireplace.

"Your life before? What do you mean?"

He swallows -  _bitter, foul copper,_ \- and stares down, old reflexes flaring again through memories -  _never look them in the eyes, it only makes them mad._  
"I've never remembered anything before the ritual. But there were… faces. Words. For just a moment, I could recall all of it. And then it slipped away."

He forces himself to look up, seeing her frowning, and feels even more worthless.

"But isn't recovering memories a good thing?"

Nervous, the scared drum in his heartbeat flares up, -  _why do you have to prolong this, please, I have to flee, please..._

"Perhaps you don't realize how upsetting this is."

Helplessness, familiar, sick, overwhelming helplessness, and it didn't matter that there was no leash around his neck, his throat was clenched, it didn't matter that his lip wasn't bitten from trying to keep silent, he could feel copper in his mouth, the taste so different from the blood drawn in battle, foul, bitter copper, fear and resignation, aching in his limbs.

"I've never remembered anything, and to have it all come back in a rush, only to lose it..."

He chokes on his own words.  _Rotten, all-consuming helplessness,_  what a fool he was to think he could have hope, have something good, unspoiled by his past and pain. He tried to trick the fate, but turns out, it doesn't matter what changed outside, if on the inside he's the same broken mess. It'll haunt him down anyway and ruin everything he tried to protect.

"I can't… I can't."

She stands up, stepping up to him with her amber eyes worried and soft in the dimmed light from the fireplace, and it makes it even more unbearable, cuts like a knife with jagged edges.

"We can work through this. Look, if it's too soon, we can wait."

It's not really a choice, even if he wants it more than anything. He lets himself look at her for just a moment, savoring the warmth in her look before it inevitably turns into hate, - as it should, as it will be better for her. But it's not really a choice, because faking normality was bad enough, but asking her to be stuck with someone dysfunctional, deficient, who can't give her anything, even so basic and simple, is too much even for a man as selfish as he is.

It's not really a choice, even if it's the hardest one he ever had to make.

"I'm sorry. I feel like such a fool."

He catches the exact moment when her eyes turn yellow and his heart drops even before she says coldly.

"Remember that offer about never seeing you again? I think I'm gonna take you up on that."

He expected it and this is right, it's fair, but it still hurts - hundreds of little hooks in his heart yanked free by the threads.

"All I wanted was to be happy… just for a little while," he knows it's not an excuse and it's not enough, but it's all he has, so he says it before finally fleeing. "Forgive me."

* * *

"Oh, for fuck's sake, not today."

"Such ungratefulness. Here I am, hurrying to help you with the problems you get yourself into, and you greet me like this."

"How do you even know that?  _Do you watch me all the time_?!"

"Oh, please, ease up your paranoia. Of course we can't "watch" mortals, we can read their minds in the Fade, but even this is a terrible experience. Your minds are awfully incohesive and erratic. Why do you think most of my kind specializes only on one type of manipulation? It's easier to learn how to access only desires, or fears, or anger and so on and read it properly, than try to multitask. So I know what happened, because currently your mind is fuming with "That motherfucker!" and "Pfft, it's not like I even care" and from connected tidbits I can more or less recollect the situation."

"Ugh, get lost, will you? I want to fume in peace."

"Frankly, I'm getting disappointed. I'm giving you an education in a world made of ignorance and you just ignore it because of childish superstitions. Don't you want to know why it happened?"

" _Superstitions_ , really?"

"I am just trying to understand. You're insisting on thinking in barbaric ideas of good and evil, okay, I'm not even trying to argue with this atrocity, and you labeled me "evil" and fine, really, I'm all but resigned to the juvenile titles. But still, why are you scared of the  _information_ I'm giving you? How can information be good or bad? I am merely telling you the mechanics, explaining the way things work, but you refuse to listen. Are you afraid that I will slip "and you should be evil and eat puppies" in the middle of my lecture and you'll just instantly absorb it? Do you not have any faith in your own ability to make your own judgments based on my words, to decide what to do with the knowledge?"

"I doubt there's any actual knowledge to find in your bullshit."

"Couldn't you see how many times I was right already? And here I was, giving you so much credit for understanding the ridiculousness of the Maker's mythology. If you could listen to the words that were said by all people good and still realize the faults in their logic and make your own judgment, why are you afraid of being blindly trusting to someone who you're consciously critical of?

"I'm not afraid. I'm grossed out. Because you talk about people like they are tools!"

"Well, what do you demand of me? I'm not one of your… "people". It's hard for me to take your emotional point of view since I don't even have emotions. It still doesn't mean that I'm lying though. Can't you understand what I'm saying nonetheless? You don't have to like the "style" of my lectures to get knowledge out of them."

" _Fine_ , what now?"

"Let's examine both sides of our current situation - you and your elf."

"Fenris is not "my elf", stop that."

"How am I supposed to distinguish him, then?"

"He has a name,  _duh_."

"We spirits don't have concepts of names, our names are what we  _are_. Calling him "Fenris" would mean he's a "little wolf" and I think we both already admitted our disdain for this unimaginative description. I think "your elf" is a much more neutral term."

"But it's gross!"

"Oh, please, don't you think it's terribly ineffective if we're gonna argue over my every turn of phrase? Let's just assume that you expressed your blanket condemnation for my horribleness and move on to the actual information."

"Ugh."

"So, let's start with your side. For you, the world is divided into two parts - the background and the figures of interest. Everyone in the background seems vague, faceless, and boringly meaningless."

"That's not true!"

"Really? How many people do you know that you didn't have some sort of deals or relations going? Even easier question - do you remember faces and names of your neighbors?"

"Um, there's... a lanky lady and… a chubby lady... Ugh. Fine, I guess I'm an asshole this way. I only notice interesting things."

"Exactly. So when a figure stands out in the background, you have to deal with it somehow to stop it from bothering you. If the only interesting thing about them is their problems - and it's most often the case - then you solve the problem and forget about them. If you actually find their personality interesting - you try to move them into your friendly circle. If they are *the problem*, you try to eliminate them. Either way, you treat them as a target, even if your methods change."

"What, like other people don't do that? Like, they just ignore people they find interesting? "

"Amazingly yes, most people don't dive into the objects of interest like battle rams. Admit it, you're just mad, because you think you missed the mark and your target got away. You needn't worry. He is already yours."

"Oh, here we go."

"You flesh-things are very fragile, but your strength is in your adaptability. If you are not crushed instantly, you can change to survive in almost any circumstances. It really is very fascinating to me, especially the workings of your mind. It can put up amazing defenses, which of course, in the long run will cost tremendously, but allows survival. In our particular case, we have an interesting example of dissociation. When a meatbag is pushed too hard past their limits, their minds tries to distance itself as if all these awful things happening not to them. It can manifest in different ways, from emotional numbness to erased memories or being a passive observer in your own body."

"What does it have to do with anything?"

"So, your elf pretty much lives like this constantly. He's getting maybe 40 percent of his body feedback at most and the extent to which he cut off his emotions during slavery is truly outstanding, I have rarely seen such extremes."

"Ugh, Maker's butt, you're gross."

"We're getting to your current situation, be patient. So, when his former master was using him, the elf shut off the worst of his trauma, which allowed him to function. But now you had to go and make him melt this barrier and look what happened. Even though I warned you that you don't have neither the patience nor tact to handle it, but no, you still tried to do it in a "kind" way. And since you had "good" intentions, you can bear no blame for the disaster that came as a consequence."

"Excuse me, how is that a consequence of  _my_ actions?"

"Because even if he shut off the worst, it never went away. And in a state of his high-wired alarm all of it was triggered at once and, of course, overflooded your elf into a panic attack."

"Well, it's over anyway."

"What? No, why would you discard him now? He's a uniquely valuable asset and I don't mean only the combat skills or lyrium markings. No, I mean the psychological organization. His doof of a former master was incredibly lucky. You take a meatbag, erase all of their memories, bring them through torture, don't give them any help adjusting, instead pushing their body and mind even harder past normal limits and then you expect them to not only function effectively, but to perform a bodyguard functions in a high-stress environment? Just about anyone else would break in the first week, either killing themself or their master or both. Fortunately for everyone involved, this elf was already pre-wired into prioritizing other people's needs over his own and being able to act effectively through the numbing barrier of dissociation. It'd be such a shame to let such a rare exhibit go un-used. You've already spent three years taming him, won't you at least regret wasting it? And most of the job is done already, there are just a few final strokes you must do."

"What happened to the unsalvageable disaster that I've wrought?"

"It's only a disaster from the standpoint of your initial goal and I never called it unsalvageable. It's really quite easy to fix at this point."

"And how is that?"

"Push him into dissociation again, obviously! Give him about a week to stew in his misery and convince himself that he could only be happy with you and he's never gonna see you again. Then meet him and be nice, but sad - he's already feeling guilty for his own emotional breakdown. Remind him that his pain doesn't matter, only your emotions do, and that he has to deal with it if he doesn't want to lose you. Dissociating is a familiar state for him and he'll fall back into it easily given enough motivation."

"As in, force him into bed? Ugh, go lick a spider, you creep."

"It's not about that. You may not sleep with him if that's your pet peeve. The real goal is in invalidating his experiences and emotions. I honestly don't see why you even argue with me there. You're already mad at him, right?"

"Well… who wouldn't be?"

"Exactly! And you blame him for that?"

"Erm… it's kinda a weird way to put it. He walked out on me, whom else can you blame?"

"See, we don't contradict each other. I'm giving you the only fast and easy way to fix this problem. He'll be feeling much better in the end too. Well, at least he won't be feeling as miserable as now."

"Didn't you hear me? It doesn't matter - it's all done. I don't have to deal with it anymore."

_The world was on fire and no one could save me but you._

_Strange what desire will make foolish people do._

_And I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you,_

_And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you._


	20. I don't care, I love it, I don't care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to split story into smaller chapters before development arcs kick in again, ugh

I was peacefully eating breakfast when Mom appeared from the kitchen with a dismayed look on her face and scurried to me.

"Darling!"

I was so surprised that I couldn't even dodge her sudden hug.

"Mom, what the… ?!"

"Bodahn told me what happened," she said, squeezing me harder. I wiggled a bit and managed to glare over her shoulder at the apologetically looking dwarf, who stood in the doorway. "It's okay now, darling, tell your mother what happened, I don't care how big this bastard's hammer is, I will personally kick his ass for hurting my little daughter's feelings... "

"Andraste's hairy bum, Bodahn,  _what_ did you tell her?! Mom, stop strangling me, my feelings are alright!"

"There's nothing shameful in a heartbreak, darling," she said without letting me go despite my struggles.

"I'm not heartbroken, I'm not hurt and I don't want to talk about it!"

"But why wouldn't you want to talk about it then?"

"Ugh, because it involves sex, and talking with you about sex is weird!"

"What?! He hurt you in bed?!"

"Mom, stop screaming into my ear! No, the bed part was fine, it's what happened after, let me go!"

"And what happened?!"

"Will you let me go if I tell you?"

"It's a distinct possibility."

"Ugh, fine, fine. So, he just… left?"

"Just left?"

"Well, not without some dramatics first. He went "I'm sorry, I can't, I can't, I'm sorry" and then ran away and… that's it? Really. Mom, I'm mostly irritated, not heartbroken."

She finally freed me and sat down beside the table, squinting at me.

"So you're irritated that he had a meltdown?"

"What?!" I startled, "Oh Maker, not you too!"

"What do you mean - you too? Who else..?"

"Doesn't matter! What matters is that the subject is closed."

"And you don't even care? From what you've said it's obvious he left in a very bad state of mind, and you don't want to know how he's doing now or at least why it happened?"

"Oh, he told me why it's supposedly happened! Because for a moment he had his memory back and then he lost it again and it's upsetting and obviously it means that we have to break up immediately, because he "can't". Duh."

She rubbed her temples. I felt defensiveness spark into indignation.

"Mom, maybe you will stop implying with the exasperated hand gestures that I'm some sort of insensitive monster? I asked him if he's hurt and he said it's not that!"

"Darling, I talked with this boy for grand total of twenty minutes and even I can tell that he's hellbent on denying his discomfort. Also, just because he wasn't hurt physically, it doesn't mean he wasn't hurting emotionally. I didn't imply that you're a monster, I can't understand why you're treating his pain as a personal insult to yourself?"

"Look, I said that we can wait! But he just threw it in my face!"

"Threw it in your face?"

"Well, um, he said that he feels like a fool, apologized, then said something really weird, like he only wanted to be happy for a little while? What does it even mean? That he always intended it to be a short affair, I suppose."

"Erica, be honest with yourself, you're bending the meaning because of your own emotions. In no way "I only wanted to be happy for a bit, I'm sorry" could mean "I always planned to walk out on you after sex."

"But why then he refused when I said we can wait, huh?"

"Did you ever told him before that night that you can wait until he's comfortable  _like I told you_?"

"Well, not out loud, but it's obvious. I didn't push him! It was his own damn decision."

"Obvious for you, maybe. For a former slave, not so much, I would think."

"I really don't understand why you're taking his side, Mom!"

"I'm not taking any sides, because there's no sides. Your "opponent" in this situation is a traumatized lad without most of the memory and any experience of handling social interactions."

"So what, it's all my fault now?"

"I'm only saying that between the two of you, you are much better equipped to deal with the situation..."

"Andraste's shiny buttocks, enough! I have to go!" I said, springing up.

"Where?"

_Ugh, hang out with Izzy and Varric in a tavern is probably not the best excuse… Oh, wait!_

"To Anders' clinic! Where I'm, you know, helping people and saving lives!"

"Erica, this is too childish even for you..." the rest drowned out, when I stormed out of the room. Seriously, is she in cahoots with this demon or what?

* * *

Isabela cautiously walked up to the entrance to Anders' clinic, listening carefully, - it's always better to make sure you're not going to barge in while some patient is in an embarrassing state. But this time she heard Hawke's voice from the inside.

"How do you even get the idea to smoke a mix of elfroot and  _deathroot_? I mean, it's right in the name!"

Isabela crouched in the shadows and glanced inside. Hawke was taking off bloodied gloves and splashing her hands in the water, which meant she most likely was helping with healing, but was going to leave now. With… the intimate matter of Isabela's problem, it was better to approach Anders alone, so she decided to wait for Hawke to go.

"I've been meaning to thank you," Anders said, while Hawke was unwinding her hair from a bun, meant to keep it from getting in the way. She smiled mildly and shrugged, but recoiled when the healer continued. "Having someone like you making a name for yourself in Kirkwall, it's done a lot for mages."

Hawke's smile turned lop-sided, but froze on the next sentence.

"You're the kind of leader we need. To tell the word we won't be punished any longer for our Maker-given gifts."

Hawke shuffled uncomfortably, glancing away and rubbing her neck.

"Anders, honestly, I'm no leader and I'm certainly not..." she met his eyes and sighed, then grinned mischievously. "Besides, I'm insulted that you're more attracted to me as a revolutionary icon than the hottest ass in city!"

"I've tried to hold back," Anders said suddenly, stepping up to her. Hawke's head jerked up and her eyes widened. Isabela stifled a chuckle. Hawke often used vaguely flirty remarks to distract the opponent and change the subject and it was funny to see it coming to bite her in the ass.

"You saw what I almost did to that girl. You've seen what I am." Anders pressed on, looming over the other mage, who now was pressed with her back against the wall. "But I'm still a man. You can't tease me like this and expect me to resist forever."

Isabela had to admit, that was kind of unexpected. First of all, Hawke casually flirted with just about everone, including Varric, Aveline and random waitresses. No one took her seriously on that, especially the waitresses. Anders had to know it, because she threw flirty puns at him too from time to time . In fact, since about a couple of years ago, she significantly toned it down for him and now random waitresses probably received more cheesy innuendos from her than the healer did, so this teasing claim was a bit weird.

_Actually wait, she stopped randomly flirting with people since she and Fenris went from circling each other to the kindergarten courting… Does it mean..._

"Haha, wow," Hawke shifted on her feet, glancing around, "I didn't think I'm so amazing that my occasional, - even if remarkably witty, of course, - lines could get you so riled up, but..."

At this moment Anders pounced and silenced her with a kiss. It was one of the most hilarious looking kisses Isabela saw since that incident with a goat. Hawke made a muffled yelp, her eyes wide open and round, and threw up her hands, but couldn't figure out what to do with them, so she just flapped them around. Also, Anders was making noises like he was eating her face, with slurping and panting so loud, Isabela could clearly hear it several feet away.

Finally, Hawke jerked her head back, hitting the wall, and broke free.

"This will be a disaster. But I can't live without it." Anders exclaimed passionately while Hawke stood there woodenly, with flared nostrils and round yellow eyes, one of which was rapidly blinking in a nervous tic.

"Wow, it's… a bit sudden, Anders," she said weakly. "I..."

"We could die tomorrow. I don't want it to be before I tell you how I feel."

Hawke squicked and abruptly clamped a hand over her mouth and Isabela had to duck, because mage's eyes darted feverishly to the door over Anders' shoulder.

"Ahahaha," Hawke said - and she didn't laugh, she just said it in a panicking forced voice. "You know, I don't actually plan on dying tomorrow, so, really..."

"I thought with Justice this part of me was over. I can't give you a normal life." Hawke avoided his eyes and tried to shuffle to the right and left, but Anders was blocking her way very effectively. "If you're with me, we'll be hunted, hated. The whole world will be against us."

You've gotta give it to him, Isabela thought, the guy saw a ghost of chance and dammit if he didn't use it for two hundred percent. Dude went from "teasing accusations" to "spending the rest of their lives together" in two minutes and one ambush-kiss. That's probably the fastest jump from zero to eleven the pirate had ever seen.

"If your door is open tonight, I will come to you," Anders went on. "If not, I'll know you took my warning at last."

"I'm sure there will be many people who will be glad to take it as an invitation to share my personal property," Hawke said and used the healer's momentary distraction to finally squeeze past him. She made a beeline fori the door, so Isabela had to dive into shadows to avoid being seen."I should go, bye!"

_Smooth, Hawke, very smooth._

Hawke practically ran for several paces past the door, then stopped, breathing heavily, glanced back, shook her head and hurried away.

_I've gotta tell Varric!_

* * *

"Hawke and Anders kissed and he's trying to jump her bones!"

Varric startled, turning the inkwell over on his parchment while the excited pirate strode up to his table.

"Very funny, Isabela, and I heard the Arishok is proposing to a goat."

"I'm serious! I just saw it with my own eyes."

"She's with Fenris! I just received complaints from the hightown noblewoman who had to shoo them from her roof because they were making out up there for two hours."

"I know what I saw and I can swear it on my own ship!.. Which I will eventually get and then it'll be the most amazing ship ever. Nevermind! It totally happened."

"You  _are_ actually serious," Varric frowned and leaned back in his chair.

"Yes! Maker's breath, the noises he was making..."

She proceed to describe it in details, even making faces - and noises - to illustrate, while Varric tried to wrap his head around it.

"But… it doesn't make any sense. It was going so well with Broody, why..."

"Oh please, like there ever was even a chance of this ending well," Isabela rolled her eyes.

"They were falling for each other like bottles in a bar fight!"

"Hah, sure, only one is a force-magic protected bottle and the second one was already shattered once and is barely holding together with glue and sheer stubbornness."

"You're exaggerating. Of course, there are gonna be bumps on the road, but..."

"Bumps? Of course, it's how it always goes. Because first you warn them to stay away because you're fucked up and you know it, but they say - it's ok, I don't care, it's just bumps on the road, I like you the way you are. And then it's all bunnies and unicorns and filthy rainbow sex, while you're desperately trying to hide your fucked-upness, until it finally breaks free. And then suddenly it's not a mysterious and quirky bump anymore, it's ugly and an inconvenient earthquake, and it offends their feelings!"

She stopped, shook her head and put on a careless grin.

"Ah, well, that's a valuable experience, I suppose. And all that it's gonna cost him is living with "I hurt the only good thing that ever happened to me" carved on his ribs."

There was a heavy pause while Isabela was drinking the dwarf's ale as he was moving gears in his head.

"I have to go check up on Broody," Varric stood up. The pirate shrugged when he walked past her.

"Pfft, I can tell you how he's doing right now. When you get there, you'll find a puddle of primordial ooze, a third of which is wine and everything else is misery and regret. So, can I occupy your suit for tonight then?"


	21. It's like the sunset in your eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, sorry for long ass hiatus again, I hope I’ll post next chapter very soon.  
> Also, I guess I’ll have to remind that when I take a dialogue that already exists in the game, I keep NPC’s quotes intact, only changing my Hawke’s phrasing. So both in this and previous chapter Anders’ lines are lifted verbatim.

 

"Okay, Rex," I said while mabari was listening intently, titling his head to the side,"so there's a probability that Anders will show up, and if he does, there's a chance that he would make some… advances in my direction, and in this case I need you to cocklblock him."

Rex bared his fangs and growled lowly.

"No, not aggressively. Friendly, okay?"

Rex barked shortly, strode up to my bed, jumped up and plastered himself all over it.

"Good boy," I chuckled, patting him on the head.

Having a mabari can save you not only from the enemies, but also from so many uncomfortable social situations. Just shoot them a poignant look and the subject of whatever is going on will be changed immediately - whether it's going to be "aww what an adorable doggy" or "gaah save me from this monster!" depends on what type of poignant look you used. Not that I think I really will need it tonight, but… it's better be prepared. If Rex was with me in Darktown clinic today, I wouldn't need to be thinking up "It's not you, it's me" speeches right now.

I'm actually still not sure what exactly happened there. Did I really give him enough of… erm, provocation to make such claims? Somehow it's all framed like he already has "feelings" and it's my fault, because I tease him? I mean, I'm not an expert on the whole feelings area, but I'm pretty sure it's not how it works? And then it's suddenly about not having a "normal life" and "being hated together".

He never actually asked me how I feel! He just kinda dumped all of his confessions on me and phrased it so that the only reason I could refuse is if I'm afraid of being on the run and having difficult life. And so I didn't, because it's not the case at all, if I was in love, I'd follow that person to the end of the earth and beyond that, but… I'm not in love with Anders. He's a nice and well-intentioned guy and all that, but feelings? Right now? It'd be perfectly ok if he asked "So, Hawke, how serious are you with that flirting, and if you're not, shut up." Or "your irresistible witty lines inspired fiery passion in me, so let's have a steamy affair." Even "I want to have your incredible puns in my life, so how about dating?" But the jump to "forever together"? Come on!

And even so, the only reason why he's so into me that Anders gave me was good representation I'm giving to mages. Frankly, I wouldn't want to be viewed as some sort of a revolutionary icon even by a friend, and even more so, for it to become a basis of a romance. I want a person I'm dating to be interested in my personality and, well, understand me. Anders knows me for three years already, he had to know that when I get involved in things, I do it to help people, not to push mages' agenda. "A kind of leader to tell the world we won't be punished for our Maker-given gifts", really? Had he even  _met_ me? I'm a kind of leader to show the world that mages can use their Maker-given gifts for pranks!

The door creaked and I sighed. I actually kept the door closed in hopes that he'll take a hint and we won't have to ever talk about it again.

"Anders, heeey..."

"Justice does not approve of my obsession with you. He believes you're a distraction."

_Maker's breath, I forgot about the whole "spirit always watching" thing!_

I remembered glowy judgemental severity of this quiet… creature in the Fade and had a searing mental image of him glaring at me while I don't have my pants on.

"It is one of the few things on which he and I disagree," Anders finished with a smile.

"So, he's kind of… an unwilling participant in our treesome?" I said with an awkward smirk.

_That's a phrase I never expected to end up using._

He frowned.

"Please don't call it that."

_Excuse me,_ _**you** _ _brought it up! Did you think it's gonna wet the panties?_

"Are you sure you want me here?" He said, folding his arms.

_Oh thank the Maker he finally asked, I won't have to start "I hope we can be friends" routine._

I started smiling apologetically and wrangling my hands, but he continued first.

"I thought you and Fenris…"

_Ugh, did you really have to bring him into this? Why is everyone is so concerned with me hurting this elf's feelings? And Anders of all people..._

I was about to shake my head when he continued.

"Or did the beast finally turn on you?"

There was a brief pause while I was questioning my ears.

"Did I hear this right?  _The beast_? Are you fucking serious?"

"Whatever you see in a maniac like that…"

_Okay, I'm mad at Fenris, but there are_ _**limits.** _ _And *you're* the one to talk?_

"Maniac? What did he do, tried to kill an innocent mage girl for calling him a monster? Oh wait!"

"Fine! Perhaps at least your hand will tame him," he snapped and marched to the door, but something burning-raw and furious uncurled under my skin.

_...I was kept on a leash…_

I remembered a thin pale scar partly hidden by the uneven white hair and shut the door in front of Anders with a Force wave.

"Look, Anders, you are my friend, so I'm going to give you a benefit of the doubt and assume you don't realize how gross it sounded and that you didn't really mean it. I don't care how much you hate Fenris, I won't stand for you calling him - or  _anyone_ \- less of a person. Especially when treating him as an animal is exactly what the slavers did, and now you're telling me to treat him as one by "taming" him?! Maybe instead of arguing over getting in my pants, you and your spirit buddy should discuss how did you end up sounding like people who represent what you're supposedly fight against."

He walked out and slammed the door behind.

"What the fuck was that, Rex?" I muttered, sitting down and absently patting mabari's head.

Whatever expectations of awkward conversation I had, it did not involve me defending Fenris of all people. It sounded even more gross than the demon did and he's devoid of human empathy, what's Anders excuse?

"How do you go for the romantic night and end up with  _that_?"

* * *

 

Varric paced in front of the tavern, glancing in the window from time to time to make sure Fenris didn't run away. Finally he saw Hawke walking down the street. The dwarf squinted, studying her. Strangely, she looked… completely normal.

She didn't look heartbroken or even particularly distressed. Her face was fresh, without underslept circles, hair and clothes in no more disarray than usually. She moved with the same springy steps like she was in a moment from dancing and she was playing with her mabari as they walked.

At the same time there was no forced cheerfulness or extra effort of I'm-Totally-Fine-No-I'm-Better-Than-Fine in her appearance. Her ponytail was still disheveled, make up as half-assed as usually, she was wearing battle robes with same careless crumples.

There was no overcompensation or depression. She was just usual, normal upbeat Hawke. Which only reinforced Varric's suspicions about who played which role in this catastrophe.

"Hey, Varric!" Mage grinned, strolling up to him when she noticed him. "Why are you standing outside of the tavern? Did they finally decided to kick you out?"

Varric considered again if he wanted to have this conversation. Well, that's not the right word. He really, really didn't want to. It's very obviously going to be a disaster. The real question is if he could afford to not have it.

Varric couldn't find any words when he stepped into Fenris' mansion and for a writer it says a lot. One thing was obvious - these garishly painted walls are the reason they broke up, but it was still unclear how Hawke managed to do all of this before the elf noticed. The dwarf tried to find Fenris, but the elf wasn't in any of the rooms he normally used. Perhaps he couldn't stand these drawings and fled the house, Varric thought, but then he heard a distant sound of a glass breaking. He followed it and finally found the elf in a small dusty room, full of cobwebs and broken furniture, where Fenris sat in the corner, surrounded by empty wine bottles, looking even more like a ghost than usually. Like a ghost of a man who died of alcohol poisoning.

Varric faltered on the threshold, because asking "How are you, buddy?" would be stupid, and he couldn't come up with something better. Some noise probably gave him away, because the elf suddenly sprang up and thrust greatsword at the dwarf in one fluid motion, so the tip of the blade stopped right under Varric's chin.

"Maker's breath, Broody! That's just me! Varric, the funny dwarf, remember?"

There was an uncomfortable moment when the elf squinted with absolutely crazy drunk eyes down the unmoving, surprisingly steady blade, before finally moving it away.

"What are you doing here? Did she send you?"

"Nobody sent me, relax."

"Then why are you here? Could I not be allowed a dignity of solitude at least in a moment like this?" Fenris was an avid hand-talker when he's distressed, which meant that right now huge blade was swinging in wide arcs right in front of Varric's face.

"Because you are my friend too and I was worried," he explained carefully.

"You won't be, not anymore. It's over."

"What is over?" the dwarf asked, admiring his own patience because no one else did.

"My happiness," the elf exclaimed tragically and gulped down a bottle of wine. Varric gave up, sat down on a random dusty crate and covered his eyes. Maybe he should have gone to Hawke first.

"I can't even get drunk," Fenris declared and threw a bottle at the wall.

"I think out of all your problems this isn't one, friend," Varric said tiredly. "You're pretty damn drunk right this moment."

"Not like this," the elf argued stubbornly, "I'm still in control. The rusty iron cage is closed in my chest again. I'm not alive… anymore."

"I'm pretty sure you're not a zombie, pal," Varric sighed, "and even if you were, Hawke couldn't learn enough blood magic in a day to make you one."

Fenris leaned against the dusty window, looking painstakingly tragic.

"Do you ever feel like you're stealing place of… the other you? Of the version of you who made the right choices? In the other world where I'm someone else, where I have a real name and the past and  _future_ , I could be enough. I stole his chance to be happy with her."

Varric's head started to genuinely hurt.

"Andraste knickers, elf, what happened? Why are you hiding here in the first place?"

"I'm not hiding," Fenris said in a hollow voice. "It's one of the few rooms in the mansion which we haven't painted."

"Wait, you  _let_ her do it?  _You helped her do it?_ And she dumped you after  _that?!_ "

"Must you dwell on this? It's all my fault. Leave me for what I deserve."

Varric shook his head. Somehow the elf managed to say a lot and explain absolutely *nothing*.

"Okay, okay, calm down. So you had a first fight. No big deal, couples fight all the time. What am I talking about, you two fought all the damn time for years, you're practically pro at this!"

"It's not the same. She said she never wants to see me again."

_Dear Maker, these people. Okay, at least it seems that Hawke initiated it…_

"And you *do* want to see her again?" Varric asked carefully, to make sure he understood each side's intentions.

Fenris made raw, choked noise that, the dwarf realized, was supposed to be a chuckle.

"I'd become a shadow of her shadow just to hear her laugh again."

It was defeated, flat tone in which he said it that really drove Varric's urge to do something about this mess despite it's obviously heading for disaster. Now he took a deep breath and said soothingly to the mage.

"Look, Hawke, you know you're like a sister to me and I'll always be on your side."

"Well, yeah," she shrugged with casual arrogance, "which other side there's to be on? Oh wait, is it about Fenris? Maker's hairy nipples, is everyone in this goddamn city going to lecture me about my personal life? Maybe we should just assemble a public meeting?"

"Look, of course you can do whatever you like in your personal life, but did you have to not only break the elf's heart, but make him tear it out himself?"

"Make him… Just what did this bastard told you?! I can't fucking believe it, he walks out on me and then tells my friends I broke his heart?!"

Varric's mind tripped over like a racing horse who just noticed that she's running in the opposite direction from the finish line.

"Wait, wait,  _he_ walked out on  _you_?" he asked dumbly, staring at outraged Hawke who suddenly got a murderous look in her eyes.

"One thing is to suddenly break up with someone right after sex and run away mumbling something about "I just remembered things from my life, I'm sorry, I can't", which is, you know, could you bother to make up some better excuse, but then to go and tell people this bullshit?!"

The one thing was clear. He couldn't let Hawke meet the elf in this state, because she's going to say terrible things she doesn't really think and that she'll later regret, and he'll forgive, but never completely believe isn't true.

Hawke is very hard to handle, but there are few spots you can always press on. One of them is pride.

"Okay, okay, sure, you have every right to be upset and mad at him for hurting your feelings..."

"Oh jeez, did my Mum sent you? My feelings are not hurt!"

"Look, Hawke, I know things were getting serious and it's hard for you to... "

"For the last fucking time! My feelings are not hurt because there  _were_ no feelings! You can hardly hurt "I'd bang that" feeling!"

"Well, why are you so mad at him then?" Varric asked calmly.

"Wha… What?!"

"If your feelings are not hurt, then why do you rage right now?" it was a dirty move, but she left him no choice.

Hawke's eyes went owlishly round.

"Because he's… this… it was really assholish thing to do! And rude. What kind of person gets into a relationship just to make a scene right after sex and break up?"

"Wait, wait… You mean you think it was  _intentional_?"

"Well, why did it happen then?"

"Are you serious? Have you  _met_ Broody? This guy bristles like a feral cat every time anyone as much as bumps elbows with him, and you think he went "Why, yes, I'm going to spend three years following this woman into most dangerous places available, then I'm going to most awkwardly court her and then after finally sleeping together I'll apologize excessively and run away to sit in my mansion like a miserable pile of goo. Profit!"

"Well, then  _whose_ fault is that? Mine?! I made him do that?!"

"It's nobody's fault. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. You  _knew_ he has a baggage the size of a qunari dreadnought when you started it, and now you blame him?"

"Excuse me! Yes I knew about the baggage, but I never blamed him for that! When he freaked out, did I fucking said "Three fucks a day or get out"? No, I told him that we can work on this and he threw it in my face!"

"He threw it in your face, really?"

"Well, he mumbled and apologized, but it's the same thing! If he cared, why did he refuse?"

"Because he didn't want to put this baggage on you? He said "It's better if she hates me" to me, do you think he meant it's better for him?"

Hawke stumbled, her eyes widening. Varric knew he's almost there.

"It's certainly not better for him! Do you remember miserable pile of goo part?"

"Duh, he's always miserable," she said in a moody tone, which meant she can't argue, but emotionally hates to agree.

"Oh no, you've gotta look at this!" Varric took her hand and dragged her to the tavern's window, where he spend next few minutes trying to clean out a little spot in the dirt on the glass. Finally he pointed Hawke at it and she leaned in, sighing.

With anyone else, Varric would first have to check if they are not distracted from anguish or even flirting with a barmaid. Fenris was reliable in matters of brooding as a cemetery statue. He was slouching over the tankard of ale, grimly staring with a thousand yard stare into a parallel dimension. In the chaotic and loud atmosphere of the tavern, he was an island of existential despair. You could practically hear the sad harps wailing.

"Eh, it's completely normal," Hawke said weakly, sounding completely unconvincing. "He's just brooding, as always."

"This is unworthy of you, Hawke."

She rolled her eyes, but then frowned alarmingly.

"Wait, wait! What the fuck is that? Is that my crest on his hip?!"

"Er, yes?"

"And is that the red scarf I gave him on his wrist?!"

"So?"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?! Is it some kind of… trophy?!"

"Really, Hawke? Really? You tell me when people see an elf wearing nobleman's crest, they think "Oh, it's a trophy!" Hell no, they think "Oh, he serves this house."

"They did he get this thing at all?!"

"Because that's the only way he knows of how to show the belonging! He thought he'll never see you again!"

"Oh really? Why is he there right now then?"

"Because I told him that funny story about how one time he wasn't with us, you were cornered by three spiders and went down with a concussion. Also I reminded him that you learned precisely zero defensive spells yet."

"For fuck's sake, I can handle myself!"

"It's not what it's about and you know it. Come on, Erica, he obviously loves you. Just give him some time."

"Maybe," she said flatly after a pause, "the problem is that *I* don't love him. Best case scenario, it could go on a little longer and end a bit less dramatically, but it was always going to end. I'm not going to give him false hopes, I was accused enough of this already. The main mistake I made is letting it start at all. It was never going to work."

Varric couldn't believe that she could spend literally years getting through the elf's spiky shell and making it work, and now was going to pretend it meant nothing.

"Wait," he said, searching for another weak spot, and if pride didn't work for Hawke, kindness always did, "can't you see that he's in a really terrible state?"

"So? I'm not a charity service."

"No, of course not. All I'm saying is maybe you  _could_ not tear this crest and scarf apart right now?"

"I don't see how it's going to help him at all. I'm going to move on and be with other people regardless, so what good this bullshit is going to do?"

"Sure, sure. You can do whatever you want, be with other people, have orgies on the streets. Just give him a chance to move on on this own time?"

She frowned and chewed on her lips, but then rolled her eyes.

"Ugh, fine, fine! Whatever. Best I can do is pretend nothing happened."

"Your generosity knows no bounds."

"Oh, fuck off!"

* * *

 

Varric kept throwing worried glances at me as we walked into the tavern, as if I was going to snap or something, and it was really annoying. I marched briskly to the table where Fenris was hunched over, and he only noticed when we stopped right in front of him, though usually he paranoidly watches the entrance.

He sprang up, tense like a string, his jaw set stubbornly.

"I'm going with you," he blurted out, looking me in the eyes with bright, desperate defiance.

I had to admit, if Varric didn't give me this talk just yet, there really would be murder right this moment. And possibly a burned tavern.

"Yeah, what is it, "Announce the Obvious" day?" I said in bored tone.

"Ah," Fenris breathed out, his eyes widening, "I thought… Thank you."

The most bullshit thing was that it wasn't sarcastic or mocking. He stood in front of me, looking like shit, weary and underslept, and there was actual sincere gratitude in his voice. I had a brief stupid impulse to kiss him, dig my fingers into these stubbornly squared shoulders and bite his lips, until he stops this confusing mess.

I looked up from staring at his lips, embarrassed, but he didn't notice because he was staring at mine. Varric looked very carefully away from us.

"So," I said and sat down. "I need a drink."

Fenris looked up and caught my eyes, flushing with so mortified expression that I felt bad for him for a moment. He crashed down on his chair abruptly, like his kneecaps were shuttered, and gulped down his previously untouched ale. I winced. Fenris hates this ale. He hates even the smell of it. He once drank a sip of it by mistake, and immediately spit it out and was making disgusted noises for next ten minutes.

Maker, he really looks terrible, not just underslept. Had he even ate? Duh. Do I care? No, I don't. It's none of my business. He can starve himself if he wants to be a martyr. Whatever.

"We should eat. Stew or something. I mean, all three of us. It's not up to discussion."

Now he's slouched down, avoiding my eyes and trying to make himself smaller and pretend he doesn't exist.

I hate that I can read him. I hate that I know him him well enough to see how he struggles to keep his defenses up and also see what he tries to hide behind them. I hate how everyone acts like I'm the bad guy and I hate even more that I don't know who's the bad guy myself.

* * *

 

Varric didn't realize how much Fenris changed over these years until he went back to his old behaviour. The slouched back, the excessive twitchiness, thousand yard stares and avoiding people's eyes. Only when he thought Hawke couldn't see it, he also followed her with the longing looks, which everyone in their party unanimously called "sad puppy eyes". It was especially unbearable when the job for the day was done and Hawke was walking away, because then it were sad eyes of a puppy who is convinced that you are leaving forever.

Hawke was really great at pretending she doesn't notice it, but gradually it started taking it's toll.

"Why is he staring at me?" one day she hissed at Varric, who walked by her side. "I can feel him staring."

Varric rolled his eyes with irritation.

"Tell him to never look at you again. It'll add to his self-flagellation nicely."

Hawke shoot him a glare.

"Why is he staring after me every time like he's never gonna see me again? We work together no less than four days week. Why does he have to do these dramatic stares every time? The back of my head hurts, I swear."

"Because once you told him you never want to see him again and now he takes every day as a temporary postponement without being sure that you'll call for him again," Varric said patiently.

The mage stumbled.

"What? But it was, like, two weeks ago!"

Varric didn't dignify it with an answer. She made another couple of steps and then grinded her teeth, looking back. The elf met her eyes, shuddered and quickly turned away. Hawke cursed under her breath and shouted "Fenris, wait!", walking back to him.

"Yes?" he made few fast steps, but then slowed down, approaching her with careful attentiveness as a small bird he didn't want to scare away.

"Varric got a job the day after tomorrow, are you free?" Hawke asked, awkwardly shifting from feet to feet.

"Yes," Fenris said with poorly hidden eagerness."Of course. Thank you."

Their eyes met and both of them froze. The air between them sparked with tense electricity of unspoken words until both of them lurched away. Fenris faked cough, hiding his eyes, and Hawke rubbed the back of her neck.

"Err, um, sure. See you then."

The elf nodded without looking up at her and Hawke marched back to Varric, who tried very hard not to smile.

"Oh my, I didn't even know I've got a job! Have you recently discovered talents in divination too?"

"Oh, piss off and find us something to do."

* * *

 

Overall, Varric thought that there was reasonably nothing to do about this mess except to wait, because the worst that could happen, happened, and now there was nowhere to go but up. It could take time, but Fenris had sad puppy eyes and Hawke didn't have a heart made of steel.

What bothered Varric was a continuous and growing divide between Hawke and Isabela since their clash one night, which they didn't like to talk about. It would be easier if it was a problem of love triangles, but no, it was mostly a competition of stubbornness and pride.

Varric could see where they both were coming from. Isabela lived her life on a premise of not trusting people as far as she could throw them. Obviously, she had her reasons, even if she shared nothing of her past except the pornographic anecdotes. Actually, the present situation was already pushing the pirate's usual boundaries - she stayed on Hawke's team for years and she never double-crossed them. She was convinced that her secrets are nobody else's business, including Hawke, probably not because she thought Hawke undeserving, but because she was used to nobody caring about her problems. Also, after Hawke moved to Hightown, the pirate was worried Erica will join the noble circles and abandon her previous, "unbecoming" friends.

Hawke, on her side, was lowkey pissed that Isabela didn't trust her completely after three years of friendship and didn't tell exactly what the deal was with the mysterious stolen artifact. She also preferred a good war to bad peace and would rather have one screaming match to clear the air and resolve the issues, instead of pretending nothing is happening, which was Isabela's chosen strategy. The pirate's life plan was to enjoy good things while they lasted and never get anywhere near conversations about feelings or emotional attachments.

Varric thought both of them were full of shit. Isabela should have already realized that Hawke backs up her friends on absolutely everything that doesn't involve murder of the innocents, no matter how dangerous it is, and just tell what she stole. But Hawke could really get off her high horse of entitlement and consider how hard trust was for Isabela and maybe make a first step of encouragement. But no, both of them thought they are completely in the right and the other one is being an asshole, so they kept a pretense of nonchalance with a tension that bordered on passive-aggressiveness. So, of course it went particularly badly in already sensitive theme of Hawke's affair with the elf.

Actually, when that conversation started, Varric had some hopes, watching from his usual secret lookout in the tavern - a priceless asset for an information broker. Hawke was pissed at Fenris way more than at Isabela, and nothing strengthens friendship more than good gossip.

"Speaking of romance…" Isabela said lazily after they stopped laughing about one of her particularly ridiculous suitors. "You and Fenris, eh?"

Varric saw how Hawke visibly perked up. Of course. Finally there was someone who wouldn't try to defend the elf. She rolled her eyes artistically and took a deep breath, preparing for the Great Speach of Perfectly Justified Complaints, but Isabela didn't catch the clue and continued.

"That taut, controlled body, brooding demeanor and intense gaze…"

Hawke blinked and scowled impatiently, eager to get to her complaining, but that's where Isabela screwed up big time.

"I hear he still wears the shackles from his life in bondage… under his clothes."

Hawke's face went blank and her eyes got that wild yellow tint. Varric moaned silently and covered his face with his hand, glancing through his fingers. There were not many things that would make Hawke mad at the elf's behalf in the moment, but slavery was certainly one of them.

"You know what they say about men like that, don't you?"

Hawke folded her arms and narrowed her eyes with a lopsided grin that had none of her usual warmth.

"No, but I hear every true pirate captain has a false body part. I wonder what is yours?"

Isabela leaned back, pursing her lips.

"Rude. I was just going to say he can't find a saw."

"And I was going to say it's your lip piercing."

* * *

 

Fenris was not making a general tension in the group easier. To compensate how awkward he was with Hawke, apparently he had to be a massive jerk to everyone else. He held himself with grim, twitchy pride, scowled through most conversations, was icily sarcastic about pointing out people's mistakes and curtly deflected personal questions.

"I can't imagine what Hawke sees in you," Anders said indignantly one evening in the Hanged Man.

Fenris was clearly determined to suffer as he thought he deserved, so instead of his usually acid responses to Anders now there was only solemn resignation. It was somewhat agonising to watch.

"It is done," Fenris said grimly, without lifting his eyes. "Leave it be."

"Well, good. I always knew she had some sense."

The elf's knuckles whitened around his cards.

"Do not make light of this. Leaving was the hardest thing I've ever done."

Isabela rolled her eyes from across the table.

"Oh, will you two get over yourselves? You're like two dogs around a bitch in heat."

Fenris finally looked up.

"We were talking about Hawke," he said flatly. "Not you."

Varric barely managed to salvage the evening.

Overall, the situation was getting more awkward and tense every day. Fenris refused to explain anything to anyone, including Hawke, and was willing to be poked at his sore spots as long as you don't badmouth the mage. Isabela's manner of dismissively making fun of things to show how they don't bother you backfired badly. Hawke was righteous and obtuse. Everyone was asshole to everyone and Varric had to carry shiny things to distract Merrill from innocently making comments about this mess and being eaten alive.

And then Hawke started to get ambushed by the Carta assassins.


	22. The kind of eyes that drive wolves mad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a standing reward for a sensible summary, because I suck at them and my inner perfectionist demands one. In return, I will love you forever and\or write you something on your prompt.

_Little Red Riding Hood_

_You sure are looking good_

_You're everything that a big bad wolf could want._

_Little Red Riding Hood_

_I'd like to hold you if I could_

_But you might think I'm a big bad wolf so I won't._

* * *

Revenants are terrible to deal with. Mainly because they are smart enough to go after whoever is wrecking the most havoc on their allies. Which means I get dragged around on a rope, like a lapdog who doesn't want to go on the walk. Of course, getting a validation as the most efficient person in the group brings warm and fuzzy feeling of superiority, but it doesn't really outbalance "getting dragged on a rope" and "being stabbed with a big-ass sword" parts right after it.

Still, I've gotten pretty good at dodging the sword - it just takes practice, like pretty much everything that you do between other people's legs. The Revenant fight is mighty unpleasant and can ruin your day if you're not concentrated, - but it's not the end of the world. So when I heard a scream, I couldn't even recognize the voice at first - because I've never heard Fenris scream. Growl - sure, quite often, or shout something, usually with irritation, but not this raw scream, with the wrecked edge.

"No! I will not allow it!"

It was so unusual that for the briefest of moments I was genuinely worried that this asshole is getting himself killed while I'm stuck with the Revenant. But the next second there was a flash of azure and two swords clashed over me. On bare reflexes I threw a Winter grasp at the Revenant before rolling away, and that was very smart of me, because Fenris turned to look at me with wild, wide opened eyes - _when there's monster swinging sword right in front of you, what are you doing, you asshole,_ \- and yelled "Are you hurt?!"

 _Honestly,_ I thought later, when Anders was patching up Varric and I was looting stuff around the room, _there was no need to make such a spectacle about it_. It's just a Revenant, not the Archdemon! Besides, what's with "I will not allow it!"? Who are you to allow me anything? I will get stabbed at my own volition, thank you very much! This whole thing with Carta assassins and having to go to the Deep Roads was already unpleasant enough and…

I stopped in my tracks in front of a bear trap. Something was weird about it. First of all, it was closed and it was covered in blood, and not rusty undead blood too. But if it caught one of us, why is it still closed? How do you get your foot out without opening it first?

The unfinished thought flew through my mind and I straightened up.

_Wait, where's Fenris?_

He was nowhere in sight. I looked around until I've noticed slight shifting behind a big boulder. I circled around it and, sure enough, Fenris was here, sitting on the ground and apparently trying to bandage up his right foot. The stripes of cloth were already soaked in blood and it was leaking out still.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

He jumped in place, looking caught at the crime scene. He also had blood streaks starting to crust up on his left temple.

"Take the bandages off, I need to see what the heck is going on here!"

"You… don't have to trouble yourself with it. I've applied health potions, it's going to be fine."

"Are you kidding me? You're still bleeding! Get it off."

"It's… too unpleasant."

"I had to collect spikes out of one guy's open guts with my own hands. You think I can't handle a bloody _foot_?"

He glanced up at me, opened his mouth, but closed it again and started unwinding bloodied stripes. I sat on the ground next to him, quietly fuming. He knows I'm not squeamish on a general basis, but since I'm pissed at him for stupid break up drama, we barely talk and apparently he's pulling his favorite "I don't want to burden you" crap. About healing! In the Deep Roads!

_Did you think I'm so petty that I would hold your wounds against you?_

Finally he put the bandages aside and it took a bit of willpower not to flinch.

"What the fuck, honestly? You think it'd be fun for all of us if you got a gangrena in the middle of Deep Roads?"

"I… I'm sorry," he said after pause, not meeting my eyes. "That was selfish and unwise of me."

I lifted his foot carefully, examining the damage as he tried to hide a wince. There were six holes - fucking holes, oh Maker, skin was hanging in torn up shreds and you can see red bleeding flesh and even bone in some places. And he walked on it - he fucking walked on it and made it _worse_ , what the fuck, it had to hurt like blazes, and what if he's already got infection there, fucking hell…

I took a deep breath to battle a sudden dizziness. _Get it together, Hawke, you've dealt with worse wounds._

He watched me sheepishly as I cleansed his foot with an easy spell that creates a soft foam to get rid of possible infections, and then found familiar presence of his markings. Lyrium responded with the eager inaudible song, the humming in your bones where you can almost make out words, as I poured the healing energy into them, and the bone and flesh mended with the weird blotchy sounds. I spent more time than it was strictly necessary, soothing new tender skin so the edges where it meets the old skin are not raised in what could later become huge scars. When the only difference was slightly pinkish tint of the newly grown skin, I looked up, satisfied with the professionalism with which I handled it, all things considered, and saw Fenris staring at me with wide opened, mortified eyes.

_So much for professionalism._

"What?" I asked with irritation and he blushed.

_Oh, for fuck's sake!_

"What?!"

"Thank you," he said hoarsely and blushed deeper,"That's… ah, very kind of you."

_You didn't blush when I was making terrible innuendo-puns while actually dry-humping you, but a foot-healing is such an outrage? What are your fucking priorities?_

"How did it even happen?" I said, trying to end the awkwardness. He visibly pulled himself together again.

"Trying to phase out of the locked trap turned out to be more difficult than I expected."

"Why would you even try something like, for fuck's sake, just open the trap normally and..."

Then suddenly I realized why it happened. He stepped into trap, then he saw me being attacked by the Revenant and had to fucking brutalize his foot to rush to my "rescue"!

I sprang up to my feet, taking a deep breath and silently gaping, because _where do I even begin with this?!_

He met my glare and stood up, still scrapping his foot a little, and straightened up, his shoulders squared up defensively.

"This is bullshit!" I finally managed, "You shouldn't do that!"

"I don't intend on stepping into traps on a regular basis."

"Don't fucking play with words, you know what I'm talking about! Stop this… this spectacle of protection! First of all, I'm more than capable of handling myself. And even more so, this is… inappropriate! It implies… a thing that we are not and _you_ decided it, so cut the pretense!"

Fenris looked down, hiding his eyes under the fallen bangs as often, but when he started talking, he raised his chin, a rigid and decisive motion.

"I'm sorry if I bother you or make you uncomfortable. I have never intended to… imply anything. Please don't feel responsible or obligated in any way. It was never meant to even catch your attention."

"Which is why you were sitting there and trying to get inflammation?!"

"I admitted it was foolish of me. I won't try to hide wounds anymore."

"But you will… continue this ridiculous line of behavior?!"

His eyes are not cold though, not the usual moss and steel he wields when arguing, it's bright apple green in the dimness of a cavern. Too bright in fact, defiance trying to hide fear.

"It's in your right to refuse to see me again, but if you accept my presence, you have to accept my choices."

"I can't believe it," I growled, "you're making "take it or leave it" ultimatum?! To me?!"

The elf paled a little and set his jaw, but held my glare without a flinch. He knew me. He knew I'm made of three quarters of pride and one quarter of bad temper, so when I'm threatened, when someone _dares_ me, I flip shit and go on full attack mode.

But, well, he also knew that I knew him. That I knew where he's coming from, that this isn't an arrogance, but his specific brand of pride - pride that he only knows how to express in defiance. Freedom for Fenris is a choice who to bleed for, because it's the only thing he ever did, and now he put my crest on his hip and decided it's for _me_ , without me having any say in this. Because he made a decision for himself, and he's going to carry it, along with the red wristband and the crest, quiet and stubborn and miserable, like a soldier who enlisted against his general's will and now is just refusing to leave the defeated battlefield, without waiting for anything in return.

So yeah, there's a part of me that wants to throw refusal in his face and storm away proudly. But there are other parts too and I'm not sure what I'm more irritated at - that I want to fuck him right there, against the rocks, to claim what he marked as _mine_ , or to curl around him, kiss tense jaw, cheekbones, scar from the leash, until the fear of being _discarded_ in his eyes is replaced by the sunrise again.

"Put some fucking boots on!" I yelled, because there's one thing I can still command him to do and not because the skin on his foot is still pinkish and tender. "I don't wanna heal your barefoot ass every five damn seconds!"

The relief washed over his face, too sharp and honest.

"Can I wear only one? I only damaged one foot after all."

"Only if you wear the other one on your head!"

He almost smiled, it was _this_ close to sunshine for a moment, but it was enough to wind me up again.

"Let me see what the fuck is wrong with your head!"

It's kinda embarrassing that apparently my way to cope with the awkwardness is to imitate an angry docker, but the worst thing is that Fenris is imitating an young lady who's been complimented on her first high society ball.

"Oh," he said shyly and looked down. "It's very kind of you."

"It's not! It's just my job!" _Hawke, please stop shouting while we still have some self-image to keep on onto._ "And you… sit down!"

He did, gracefully if a bit tense, I stomped angrily to flop down next to him, purposely ungraceful, cast some water on bandages he didn't use and started cleaning up the crust of dried blood on his temple. He arched his neck a little, to make it more accessible for me, and kept glancing at me from under lowered eyelashes in what he imagined was inconspicuous manner.

_This is horrible. How did I end up like this?_

* * *

It took him few hours to build courage. Though, if he had to be honest, it was less of a determined decision and more of a feverish tension threatening to burst his chest open. The actual, real reason why he avoided Hawke's healing spells, under all of the other ones, which are still true, but _lesser_ , is that he was afraid to feel anything but sunshine. All these years, since the dragon slayed in Deep Roads, he could depend that no matter what the circumstances were - if Hawke's in bad mood, or barely awake and groggy, or they just had a fight, - her magic always feels like a sunshine on his skin. It's not yet a caress, but an affirmation - that he's welcomed, wanted, liked here. At first, that he won't be stabbed in the back, but later - that the only person who he tentatively came to associate with words like "friend", "safety", ("sun") is not just tolerating his presence out of pity.

He knew it wouldn't last after what happened, he knew he lost it, he tried to prepare himself, but still couldn't bear to actually find out. When this day she stormed in, irritated to the point of yelling - justifiably, because she doesn't have to be compromised in the midst of danger just because he's too much of a coward. So he resigned and waited, and then the sunshine flooded in, so overwhelming, he almost drowned. Sure, it was more of a desert scalding heat than the lenient sun of midday, but it was still _it_.

His inner arguments about explanations are in disarray. There's "It is because she's kind, she gives second chances to people who didn't deserve the first ones, it's who she is, it's nothing personal," and it's… ah, "officially accepted" version, as an Orlesian politician would say, but the sneaky whisper argues "She is too kind, of course, but she also sets people on fire, so there should be a scale between the sunshine warmth and a fireball where _personal_ is what matters." There are weaker voices, small and insecure, trailing off at the first signs of spotlight, but somehow always coming back from the hiding. "Perhaps she doesn't hate me" is the strongest of the bunch, it even dares to stay in place for few moments after light falls on it's corner. "Perhaps she still somewhat likes me," is a weaker echo of the first one. "Perhaps someday we could..." never dares to finish, a shadow of an echo. His hopes are a bunch of scared, starved rats, hunting for crumbs of affection.

Hawke would make a point of groaning for at least ten minutes if she heard him say that.

Fenris caught up to her and said what truth he could.

"Thank you for asking me to come along again, Hawke."

For a second he's worried that he said it in Tevene, because Hawke looked at him like she didn't understand the words.

"Yeah, sure, what a privilege," she said finally. "Because there was a huge line of people who wanted to go into the Deep Roads and fight mad Carta assassins."

It wasn't going well. On the other hand, "Thank you for not hating me" would still probably go worse, so Fenris tried again.

"I just... am pleased. To see you. That's all."

It didn't help. Hawke stared at him mutely, with incredulous round eyes.

"Smooth," Varric chuckled behind their backs and while Hawke was shooting him a glare, Fenris stalked away hurriedly.

* * *

I stood on the edge of the void, throwing little rocks down. Isn't it weird that we are so far underground, yet there are chasms that seem to be bottomless.

There were steps approaching from behind my back, soles scraping the rocks a bit awkwardly, since the elf was not accustomed to wearing boots.

"A key tied to your father's blood. If he was a blood mage, you would do well not to make his same mistakes."

I threw rock and pushed it with the force magic so hard that it went into the opposite wall of a cavern for about a foot deep.

"Can we postpone this conversation until we're back in Kirkwall?" I said flatly, without turning around. "If we fight right now, one or both of us could fall into this pit and it'd be unfair for Varric to carry Anders back alone, if he doesn't come to his mind."

"I… I'm sorry, I didn't intended to sound antagonizing."

"What did you intend to sound like?" I said, finally glaring at him. "Why would you say something like this if you _didn't_ want to piss me off?"

Fenris looked embarrassed and lost.

"I... don't have a talent of being comforting, I'm afraid. I think it's more useful to learn something even from most unpleasant news than offer empty platitudes."

"Fenris, let me give you a piece of advice, if you ever have to interact with some living being you don't want to antagonize against the call of your nature," it's a bit too acid a retort for his nervous honesty, but he looked attentive anyway. "People don't need you to be useful and especially no one is giving any fucks about getting valuable experience in the moments of emotional turmoil. What people need, is an emotional support and reassurance that you're here for them and that you _care_. No one fucking needs you spelling out life lessons."

I turned away abruptly, because I gave away too much already, and tried to breath evenly to calm my temper.

"Would you mind if I stayed?" he asked softly after a short pause.

"I don't care," I snapped and didn't look at him, but Fenris didn't leave. He walked closer to the edge, so we now were few steps away from each other and just stood there, silently looking into the chasm.

How much easier it'd be if I could bury my face in the crook of his neck, and just stand there, in his arms, for few minutes, soaking the sensation of his quiet laugh. It'd be also much easier if he was just indifferent, if he didn't thank me for bringing him into monster-infested shitholes and didn't wear my crest like a pledge of allegiance, if I didn't see raw, painful affection when he looked at me. I'd deal okay on my own, like I'm going to do right now, I don't _need_ him after all, but what I need even less, are his awkward convoluted attempts to help and protect from the distance.

"Anyway, worried my dad is gonna inspire me to become a blood mage?" I growled spitefully, because I wanted to push him, throw him off the balance and make him drop the pretense of caring, because he wouldn't leave if he did. "What will you do then, rat me out to the Templars?"

He winced, but met my eyes squarely.

"Well, at least I'm glad it's just a spontaneous jab at me and you didn't actually consider blood magic. If you gave it even a second of thought, you'd realize that I tolerated a blood mage for years for the sake of your company."

_Damn, right, Merrill is still here._

"What would you do then? Leave?" I pressed on.

Fenris paled a little, but didn't look away.

"No. I'd stay by your side," he said firmly, without doubt or hesitation and way too quickly. He thought about this before, I realized. He trusted me, he followed me into the monster-infested shitholes, he joked with me about me turning into a cackling blood mage and he actually thought what he would do if I became one. I didn't know what was more maddening - that he thought I could do it or that he decided to stay anyway.

"Why?" I asked. It was cruel and I wanted it to be so. Fenris held my gaze, but closed fingers of his right hand and moved it behind his back, as if protecting the red wristband.

"If I let you to be driven to blood magic while I was there, then the least I could do is face the consequences."

"You can't * _let*_ me anything," I hissed, "I'm not your fucking responsibility! It's not your job to protect me - especially from myself!"

"Trying to keep the fire alight in the cold night is not something you do because of responsibility," he said, surprisingly calmly, with a quiet, intense determination in his eyes that he gets when he *decided* something. "And of course I can't "let" or forbid you anything. I simply want you to know that you don't have to spend your own blood while I have even a drop of mine."

"I don't need it. I'm not actually going to turn to blood magic, I can manage on my own!"

"I know you can. I just want to make it a little easier."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I muttered, turning away. Holy dramatics! Who says things like that and all the other shit he said and actually *mean* it? Who does this?!

For some reason it's a little easier to breath now.

_I don't wanna deal with this right now._

"If Anders doesn't come to his senses soon, you'll need to carry him," I said after a pause.

"No."

"We can't leave him there. It's not his fault that he lost control and tried to kill us. I mean, it's kinda is, because technically he decided to get possessed voluntarily, but eh, you know what I mean. And I made him go with us to the Deep Roads, so it's kinda my fault? And neither I nor Varric could carry him."

"We could roll him."

I pointedly groaned.

"Would you carry me?"

"And this is relevant how?.."

"Well, I could carry Anders and you could carry me?"

* * *

"Oh, thank the Maker, finally!" Varric said with equal parts of relief and irritation, standing up from a chair in front of fireplace in Hawke's estate's hall. "Where have you been?"

Fenris was pacing nervously first in his mansion, then under Hawke's windows, but it's not something he wants to tell the dwarf. Instead, he asked,

"How is she?"

"She's got a crate of the cheapest whiskey I know of, drinks it in her room and throws bottles at anyone who tries to enter."

It sounded even worse that Fenris thought. The dwarf continued.

"Luckily, she didn't meet Leandra's brother - the asshole tried to blame her."

The elf raised an eyebrow. Varric shrugged.

"I sort of… threw him out."

There was a long pause, while Fenris contemplated how to better ask "What am I supposed to say to someone whose mother was just violently murdered and used in a blood mage ritual?" He couldn't even promise vengeance, - she already killed the blood mage. Not just killed - burned him down until there was nothing left, watched it, not flinching. The flesh and clothes burned quickly, but the bones just charred. Hawke narrowed her eyes, her lips tight, and snapped every bone with the force magic so they fall apart into little pieces. A little heap of ash, black bone crumbs and molten bits of metal was everything that there when the fire ended. Hawke watched it being swept away into the sewer water and stormed away silently.

"Try to get her to cry," Varric said firmly and didn't explain as if Hawke crying was such an obviously good thing, "and make her stop drinking, I think this stuff can dissolve intestines."

He walked woodenly up the stairs and knocked on the closed door.

"Go away!" yelled Hawke's voice, slightly slurring, and Fenris took a deep breath and opened the door.

Hawke sat on her bed, facing the fireplace, and looked terrible - reddened eyes with unhealthy dry brightness in her stare, tousled hair, rigid tension so unlike her written in all the lines of her body. She looked up at the elf and groaned.

"Oh Maker, not you too! I have the last bottle left, I really don't want to waste it."

Fenris regarded the floor in front of him, with a puddle of spilled whiskey and glass shards littered all over it. He wanted to leave, he really, really did. He never felt so hopelessly inadequate in his life, because he wasn't made for this, he didn't know what to do, this was part of the reason he left - so Hawke would find someone warmer, better, _normal_ , someone who'll know what to say and do to help. For all he knew, Fenris was afraid he'd only make it worse. He felt that he had no right to be there, that he was intrusive and unwanted. If she looked better, he'd probably obey and leave. But he couldn't leave her like this, surrounded by broken bottles and with the look in her eyes that was unhinged to the point of viciousness. The thought of her hurting gnawed at him all this time with the visceral intensity, like an Entropy curse, until it outweighed the fear of making it worse.

He decided to deal with problems gradually and at least the first thing on the list was obvious - getting through Hawke's barrier of whiskey, broken bottles and misplaced pride. The elf looked up at Hawke and held her glare.

"Do you want to lit it on fire too?"

There was a thing about knowing each other for so long. He'd walk over these glass shards, just like he held her hand through the fire, and she knew it. But she wouldn't let him do it, and he knew it too.

The standstill lasted for few moments and then he moved without looking away from her. But before he could finish the step, Hawke said "Oh, for fuck's sake!" and a force wave swept broken glass to the far wall from under his feet. He crossed the space between them, while she gulped the whiskey down, and sat quietly next to her on the bed.

He never felt so hopelessly useless and helpless in his whole life, not even on his knees with the leash tearing at his throat or with the slavers haunting his steps. Perhaps because back then he didn't have to do anything, just endure, just let it happen, and then get through - run, fight, survive, which is, even if difficult, are clear goals. Now he needed to do something and he had not the slightest idea what, not even the direction, just a panicking ringing emptiness in his head. He wished the solution was to do something easy, like kill a dragon.

"Maybe Carver was right to leave," Hawke said suddenly in a raspy voice, staring into fire. "Maybe a horrific death is just what is bound to happen to anyone close to me and he's only alive because he left."

"What?" Fenris asked, caught by surprise and suddenly half-terrified that he's in some terrible illusion in the Fade.

"No, it's not about me blaming myself for mother's death," Hawke continued with a voice that was somehow both casual and wrecked, "I mean, _of course_ , it's my fault, it's not a question here. If I wasn't so self-centered, if I wasn't so self-righteous and sure how people *should* feel and offended if they felt differently, she'd tell me more about this "suitor". I'd recognize him, I'd recognize the fucking lilies! But no, she wasn't *supposed* to move on, so I was an entitled piss-baby and didn't want to hear anything about father's "replacement", fucking hell."

She gulped down the whiskey again, while the elf stared at her, speechless and petrified. This is the single most not-fitting-for-Hawke thing he ever heard, this sounded so unlike her that he started to get genuinely scared for her.

"So, really, this is my fault, but the larger picture? Bethany's death? The fact that out of the whole city this maniac chose *my* mother? It looks like some kind of cursed pattern, it's not necessarily my fault, but if it's there, people should just stay away..."

He railed up, because this is too much, this is bitter and jaded, this is not what Hawke, bright and kind and unbending, had ever sounded like, this is not what his Hawke should ever sound like.

"This is absolutely ridiculous. It's hard to keep count of how many people you've helped and how many owe you their lives..."

"It's not that! I've told you, it only happens to people _close_ to me," she sounded convinced, somehow, decided, and his heart fell abruptly, because what if he's too late, he let her stew in this until she really believed, maybe not in this particular "curse", but in self-loathing. "So you did the right thing, you know. Maybe it'll be better if we only meet when you need my help, like, there are signs of slavers or..."

Fenris had to do something so he did the only thing that he really knows how to do with her - arguing.

"If you want to talk about self-centered, Erica", he said, scathing and bitter, like it's a competition, like if he could remind her what real jaded mess of broken pieces sounds like she'd stop moving in that direction, "what about thinking up a curse based on incidents that occurred in a several years-span, when most people from your own village were killed in one day with their entire families or turned into darkspawn? Did they have a worse version of your curse? Do *I* have it?"

Hawke stared at him for a long moment, her eyes simmering wild yellow, and he almost waited for her to throw a fireball at his face. Instead, she turned away and folded down, her shoulders drooping, both tension and feverish determination draining from her. She suddenly looked small and very tired.

"You're such an asshole, Fenris," she said and there was no humor in her voice. "It kinda helps though."

She drew a breath with an open mouth, choked up, rueful and raw.

"Maker, but really, what a horrible person I am. Even now I'm somehow making it out about myself, when it's..."

At this moment he remembered how he felt like he's the most worthless being in the entire world and how she helped, and his feverish mind grasped at the solution, no matter how feeble it seemed, because he had to do _anything_ , anything at all. So he reached out and pulled her into his arms by the shoulders. It was abrupt and wooden, he hated himself and expected her to break free, because really, he had no right.

Hawke shuddered and threw her arms around him, the whiskey bottle fell down and spilled at their feet. She cried desperately, shaking in his arms, and Fenris didn't dare to breath. But then, it was somehow better, it was open and genuine, no holding back, it was true to her - so it was better than pained, clipped tone and resentment. Then he remembered what she was saying back then, and though he wished he could say "It's going to be fine", he couldn't lie to her, especially not when he's scared out of his mind that it won't. So he stroked her tangled hair as gently as he could and promised what little he knew for sure.

"I'm here. I'll always be by your side. I'm here."

Her fingers dug into his shoulders and Fenris held her closer and tighter, as much as he could without hurting her. He never got to know her mother, he couldn't say he grieved for her, but no matter the cause, Hawke's suffering felt almost physically devastating. He wished he could shield her, hide her somewhere so nothing evil ever touched her again. He wished today never happened, he wished he could take away her pain, because it's only fair, isn't it all that he does - endure pain, run from the ghosts, one more wouldn't change much. Even if it did, it doesn't matter if it meant that Hawke is left unscarred, unburnt.

 _This can't happen. You can't let this happen,_ he's thinking, rubbing her trembling back, and he's not sure who exactly he's angry at - Maker, fate, some unknown force that is responsible for the world, himself. _She's fire and you can't let the darkness break her._

Eventually, she sniffed loudly and pulled back a little. He loosened his grip just enough to let her, not more.

"Your shirt is covered in snot. Gross," she said raspily, her voice sore, but not broken.

"Well, it's fortunate then that it's one of old shirts from previous owners of my mansion that worth nothing. At least the feathers are safe."

Hawke made a noise that isn't quite humorous, but at least moving in that direction.

"Still, it's true, I'm horrible," Hawke said weakly, but now it's less of wrecked decisiveness and more of her normal stubbornness. "I just take everything for granted, I took her for granted. Did I even knew her, really _knew_ her? Did she knew how much I loved her? And does this love even means anything if I didn't bother to notice, I think I can't even remember some simple things about her, what am I..."

He gently opened her hand, clenched on his forearm, and kissed her knuckles, all covered in bloodied scratches. It quieted her.

"Of course you knew her. And she knew how you loved her. You're exhausted and shocked, you can't trust your memory now. You need to sleep."

She sighed heavily and looked away.

"I don't want to. I'm afraid of dreaming."

He knew exactly what she meant and it cut through him, because she was never supposed to understand this fear.

"I know," he said quietly, his throat tight, "But I can say from experience that trying to avoid nightmares only means you'll be too drained to deal when it happens."

She shifted in his arms and didn't answer, still not meeting his eyes. He didn't think there was much of a point in repeating the obvious, but he needed to say something, so he said it.

"It's not much of a relief, but you won't be alone."

Hawke finally looked up, and it was painful to see surprise and doubt in her eyes, but he deserved it.

"Fenris, you don't have to… I'm going to be fine anyway."

"Am I making it worse?" he asked calmly, trying to hide that this is a genuine concern of his.

Her eyebrows shot up.

"What? No, Fenris, but..."

"Then let us not speak of this again."

"I don't need your pity," she said and at least there were her usual temper and fiery pride showing.

"Pardon me, isn't it supposed to be my line? Followed by "I'm not made of glass"? And then you answer "No, you're made of stupid."

She looked at him with sharp scrutiny, like she saw him for the first time, and he held her glare. Then her expression softened, her eyes drifted over his face, unfocused and searching at once, and for a second he thought she's going to kiss him. And if it was what she needed from him, he'd let her, anything, even if he didn't know what it'd cost him. Instead, she closed her eyes and bumped her cheek against his. He leaned against it, took in the smell of ashen dust, tears and this foul whisky; their breath tangle, just like their fingers. The ruffled thread of her hair got into his ear. If he could die of tenderness, he would.

He could feel the eyelashes fluttering against his skin.

"I'm wasted. What if I throw up?"

There's a fond smirk in her voice, still wobbly, but not shattered, so he let himself hope.

"I thought we've already established that this shirt is disposable."

She fell asleep quickly after she settled against him. It gave him strange feeling of relief to see that she wasn't curled up in a ball or hid under the covers, no, she's sprawled freely as ever. He listened to her breath turning deep and steady and remembered how in the Deep Roads she used to roll off the blankets onto the rocks and then complain all day.

It's hard for him to fall asleep with someone breathing on his shoulder, deep in his muscle memory anyone being this close means danger. But it was incredibly long, terrible day, he's exhausted and in his life he learned to sleep in just about any conditions - on the run he could sleep on the trees. So after he got used to the whiskey stench or at least convince his subconsciousness that there's Hawke underneath it, he started falling asleep, waking up when she shifted and drifting off again. When she woke up from a nightmare, she didn't scream - just jerked in his arms and drew in a long, wheezing breath. Someone else, less twitchy than him, probably wouldn't be awaken. She hid her face in the crook of his neck and her fingers closed over his wrist, lightly trembling, and it left a mark that went deeper than the lyrium, bound harsher than a leash.

 _Oh,_ he thought distantly, pulling her closer. _What a fool I've been to think all my ties to her could be cut just because I can't be with her._

* * *

_What a big heart I have - the better to love you with._

_Little Red Riding Hood_

_Even bad wolves can be good._

_I'll try to keep satisfied just to walk close by your side._

_Maybe you'll see things my way before we get to grandma's place._

* * *

A\N: There's a standing reward for a sensible summary, because I suck at them and my inner perfectionist demands one. In return, I will love you forever and\or write you something on your prompt.


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